One Leg To Stand On
by Samadhir
Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Salamandastron, a captain has to learn to get on with his life despite the loss of his leg. Based on The Crimson Badger by Highwing.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello again, fellow fanfictioneers! I'm back and I've decided to put up another story based on Highwing's magnificent Urthblood Saga. This story will deal with a minor background character – the stoat captain Bandon and his fate after losing his leg at the end of The Crimson Badger, found here: _ s/6788438/1/The_Crimson_Badger_Book_I_The_Warlord. _As should go without saying, this story contains plenty of spoilers for the ending, so I suggest you read Wing's magnificent story before you read mine._

_A little background to this project is appropriate: for a couple of years Killy, another great fan of TUS and a member of this site, has been interested in finding out what happened to Bandon. However, Highwing was too busy to devote the time to write an entire story about it, so I recently decided to take it upon myself to do so. As such, this is a gift for you, Killy. I hope you enjoy!_

_As with the Wolfrum story, Wing has been a tremendous help in editing and providing critique for me. However, I'm happy to report that he has had to do less work this time, and that I've even started writing the accents myself, though Wing will probably have his talons full in correcting the mistakes I did doing so. In any event, thank you very much Ol' Featherbag – this story is for you as well!_

* * *

One Leg To Stand On

"Hey, Korix, get over here! I think he's waking up."

Crawling his way up from the blissful peace of unconsciousness, Bandon the stoat captain slowly opened his eyes, letting the blurry images of his surroundings make their way into his mind. His upward gaze fell upon what appeared to be a rough-hewn cavern roof, flickering flames illuminating the craggy surface with a soft glow. Turning his head, he saw a pair of black-clad, red-furred figures approach to stand by his side, staring down at him.

Bandon's immediate thought was that he'd died and gone to Dark Forest, and the two phantoms above him were here to guide him to his proper place in the afterlife. Then, remembering that a dim, firelit cave wasn't part of the traditional image of Dark Forest, he worried for a moment that he'd arrived at Hellgates instead, the red-furred beings set to punish him for his life's misdeeds. This struck the stoat through his sluggish reasoning as somewhat unfair – while he'd hardly been a paragon of virtue throughout his life, surely he hadn't been _that _bad?

"Bandon?" One of the figures reached down to lay a paw on his shoulder. "It's me, Sappakit. How are you feeling?"

Sappakit, Sappakit… Ah, yes, from Lord Urthblood's swordfox brigade! Bandon had met him a few times – seemed a decent sort. One of the more accomplished healers in the brigade. That would explain this pair's red fur and black clothing.

Then it struck the stoat that perhaps he wasn't dead after all. Why would a healerbeast have followed him into the next world? Blinking his eyes a few times to try and focus on the chamber around him, his vision gradually became clearer and the world sharper. Yes, he indeed lay in a cavern, or a cavern-like room at any rate, the space illuminated by lanterns and candles. The familiar faces of Sappakit and another fox named Korix hovered over him, their features fraught with concern.

"Bandon, can you hear me?"

The voice seemed distant and far away. Drawing a deep, difficult breath and striving to gather his strength, he managed to groan, "A-aye, I can hear ye…"

"How are you feeling?" the fox asked, repeating his earlier question.

Turning his attention from his surroundings to focus on his own state, Bandon realized his tongue and throat were quite dry.

"Thirsty…"

Sappakit unclipped a canteen from his belt, uncorking it and placing it to the stoat's lips. Bandon gratefully accepted a few cool sips, coughing a little as a few droplets caught in his throat. The drink allowed him to further clear his mind as he took in more of the chamber. He lay in a bed, one of dozens in the cavernous hall, and every one looked to be occupied. Urthblood's foxes circulated among the resting creatures, their postures and motions betraying their exhaustion. Bandon thought their behavior a little odd – they normally only did this if they had a lot of sick or wounded beasts to attend to…

"Where are we…?" he inquired of the swordfoxes. Sappakit and Korix exchanged glances, as if surprised he'd pose such a question.

"Eh, we're at Salamandastron, Captain," Korix said. "In the infirmary we set up here in the lower levels ... "

"Salama-?" The name seemed strange to Bandon, then suddenly it all came flooding back to him. Of course - the mountain of the Badger Lords where their master Urthblood had led them. _"Silly stoat,"_ he thought to himself, _"forgetting such an obvious thing." _And, an infirmary? Yes, that would explain why all these foxes were making such rounds. But what were all these wounded creatures doing here? Had there been some kind of accident, or…?

The battle! Yes, there had been a battle between Urthblood and his mad brother Urthfist for rule of the mountain. And what a battle it had been, the famous Long Patrol and their overlord arrayed against the awesome might of the Crimson Badger and his Northland forces. But Bandon could not for the life of him remember which side had emerged victorious…

"Th'battle… did we win?"

"Indeed we did," Sappakit affirmed with a nod, encouraged that the stoat captain could now at least recall that there had been a battle recently. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be here right now. Lord Urthblood managed to slay his brother, and took the surrender of the surviving Long Patrol. But our victory came at a high cost, as I'm sure you yourself can appreciate…"

"'preciate?" Bandon looked confused. "T'be 'onest, I can't remember much of anythin' 'bout that battle."

Sappakit sighed. "Well, you've suffered a fair amount of trauma, so it's hardly surprising that your memory is a little patchy right now. We also gave you a rather strong pain medicine, which can muddle a beast up a bit."

Trauma?

Bandon tried to sit up, but Korix lay a firm paw upon his chest, keeping him recumbent. "Please, Captain, you must rest for now. You're not completely out of danger yet."

"Yes, you're very lucky to have survived at all," Sappakit added. "It's a miracle we managed to find you and pull you out from beneath the other corpses before you bled to death… and that you were able to stay hidden without Urthfist or his hares discovering you."

So he had been wounded in battle. That should have been obvious, seeing as how he was lying here in this makeshift infirmary. But just how had he been wounded?

And how badly...?

Focusing upon his body, and the physical sensations it was sending him, Bandon noticed a dull ache emanating from his left leg. Glancing down toward the foot of the bed, he noticed that that leg sat elevated upon a pillow. That was rather strange – they usually only did that if…

Gripped by sudden panic, he sat up ramrod straight before the foxes could react.

"Bandon, wait –" But Korix was too late; the stoat officer had already glimpsed his leg laying there upon the pillow, and in one horrible, terrible rush, everything came back to him.

In his mind, he again saw Urthfist smashing through the forward defensive lines that Lord Urthblood had established on the southern slope of Salamandastron. Again, he relived the terror of seeing rats, stoats and ferrets being slaughtered en masse by the mad badger, their ornate weapons and shields from the mountain treasury useless against his berserker wrath. The surviving vermin had regrouped and tried to surround Urthfist to overcome him by sheer numbers, but in the grip of the blind fury known as Bloodwrath, he'd become an unstoppable juggernaut. And when scores of his Long Patrol hares entered the fray as well, rallying to the aid of their master, it was too much for even Urthblood's seasoned campaigners to withstand.

In the midst of this unimaginable carnage, Bandon had desperately sought to hold together his shattered stoat squad, barking out battlefield commands that went largely unheard or ignored in the face of the terrifying onslaught by the rampaging Badger Lord. Frantically seeking some opening in the whirlwind of death that was Urthfist, he picked a moment when the badger's back was turned, racing forward in hopes of severing a heel tendon to cripple the unreasoning brute. As Bandon did so, however, Urthfist took an unexpected step backward, and the stoat captain's blade scored only a light scrape across the thigh. Roaring, the badger turned and swung his massive sword at his attacker's midsection with a stroke that would have cleaved Bandon in two. The stoat threw himself backward in time to avoid the worst of this counterstrike, but as he hit the ground he felt a sharp pain above his left ankle. Stunned by the fall, he was still trying to shift himself when the headless body of a rat fell across him. Satisfied that the stoat captain posed no further threat, Urthfist and his hares directed their attention elsewhere, moving on to butcher more of Bandon's conrades. Pinned to the ground by the corpse, Bandon was in no shape to free himself, and within moments had lost consciousness.

Looking down at his lower limbs, he saw just what the badger had done to him. On the pillow lay what remained of his leg, the footpaw missing midway up to his knee. All that was left was a stump covered by a heavy dressing of bandages, the tip dark red with dried blood.

His muddle-headedness was gone, his blood turning cold as he fully remembered exactly what had happened to him… and what it meant for his future.

"Bandon, please!" Korix implored. "You must remain calm and on your back until the bleeding has stopped completely." He gently but firmly pressed the stoat back onto his pillow.

Seeing the distress and shock on the stoat's face, Sappakit laid a comforting paw on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Captain. I'd hoped that you would still remember you'd lost your footpaw. I know this must be a terrible thing for you to go through, but you must rest now and regain some of your strength before we can do anything else. We'll find a way to get you back on your…" The fox caught himself, realizing he was about to say 'feet.' "We'll get you back up and active again soon enough. For now, just continue to rest and we'll sort things out later."

Bandon just stared at his vulpine caregiver for a few moments before acknowledging these encouraging words with a sad nod. Korix looked over his shoulder at the rest of the infirmary.

"Sapp, we still have a lot of other patients to see to."

"Yes, I know." Sappakit withdrew his paw from Bandon's shoulder. "Remember to just lie still, and don't strain yourself unnecessarily. We'll be back to change the bandages and dressing later."

The two foxes left his side to go tend the dozens of other creatures who'd been wounded in the battle of Salamandastron. Bandon, former stoat captain, just stared up at the ceiling in dismay, the implications of his maimed leg overwhelming him as his eyes started to well up with tears.


	2. Chapter 2

_A wide blue sky domed the pleasantly mild day, rather atypical for the usually dreary and cool Northlands mid-autumn. Bandon inwardly thanked nature for granting this respite today, as it was most fitting for the occasion. _

_This was the day he was going to be made a captain. _

_Lord Urthblood's army was camped near a lake in one of the hilly regions so common in this part of the Northlands. About two hundred of his fellow troops were present for the ceremony, mostly ferrets, stoats and weasels. Assembled in loose ranks, they left a narrow gap in their midst for Bandon to pass through. At the head of the gathering stood Urthblood himself, his crimson armor resplendent in the noonday sun, and Machus the Sword, his black uniform freshly washed to look as regal as possible. _

"_Bandon!" the Badger Lord called out, his mighty voice echoing over the landscape. "Come forward!"_

_Obediently, the stoat left his position at the rear of the assembly and marched up the passage between his comrades-in-arms, making his way toward his badger master. Bandon wasn't accustomed to being the center of attention like this, and having every face turned his way as he passed between the columns – coupled with the heightened expectations of his imminent new rank – made him a little nervous. It helped that the generally supportive and congratulatory expressions on most of those faces bespoke of a willingness by these soldiers to accept him as their new commander, infusing him with confidence and composure befitting his elevated station. _

_Most of those faces, but not all. And if some of those smiles of encouragement seemed a little forced and disingenuous, such an undercurrent of jealousy was to be expected. Bandon wasn't the only the one who'd actively campaigned for this post, opened by Urthblood's decision to add another captaincy to his expanding stoat brigade. Several potential candidates had been weighed, all good warriors and respected among their fellows, any of whom could easily have been in his place today. He hoped his selection wouldn't create any lasting resentment or rivalries with the other candidates – that sort of thing could be very dangerous, both for himself and for the coherence of the army. _

_But in the end, regardless of the others' ambitions or desires, Urthblood had chosen him, and no other. Any rivals who contemplated nursing a grudge or harbouring ill will towards Bandon for this honour would do well to remember that their badger master didn't look favourably upon those who challenged him or questioned his edicts – and that Urthblood only made such edicts after long deliberation and careful thought. Bandon's skill, dedication, loyalty and ability to lead his fellow stoats in battle had convinced the badger that he, and he alone, was the most worthy choice for the new stoat captaincy. _

_Or so Bandon liked to believe. One could never be too sure about anything regarding Urthblood. His prophetic vision and intimate understanding of the forces of destiny might well have allowed him to see some special quality or potential in the stoat beyond the ability of ordinary beasts to discern._

_If so, that prospect made Bandon a little uneasy – what Urthblood considered a "special quality" or a "potential use" wasn't always something that boded well for the beast in question. _

_Approaching the badger, Bandon passed some of the more important beasts gathered here for this ceremony. Callahan and Felim, the other two stoat captains presently serving under Urthblood's command, stood at the forefront of the crowd, summoned to witness the promotion of their new peer. Callahan was the senior of the pair, having joined up with Urthblood not long after Machus himself. While all captains were officially equal, that being the highest rank awarded by the Badger Lord, some carried a great deal more authority and respect than others due to age, skill or sheer force of personality. _

_At their side, his squat shape a sharp contrast to the mustelids comprising most of the assemblage, stood Odhran the hedgehog, a scholar from a nearby woodlander settlement. Ohdran had been teaching Bandon, and quite a few of the other newly appointed officers, to read and write, and Lord Urthblood had seen fit to include the hedgehog among this otherwise all-vermin gathering. Officers in the Badger Lord's army were often required to take messages and reports, and to compose their own dispatches to communicate vital information. Since most of his soldiers, vermin and woodlander alike, were illiterate, Urthblood had engaged a number of learned beasts from the surrounding homesteads to instruct his commanders in the ways of the written word. Odhran and Bandon had struck up something of a friendship during their sessions together, and the hedgehog beamed at the stoat as he saw his student step forward to receive the promotion he'd so clearly earned. _

_Finally coming to stand before his master, the sturdy stoat looking small and weak compared to the towering mountain of red-armoured muscle staring down at him, Bandon locked gazes with Urthblood and awaited the next part of the ceremony. _

_Regarding the stoat with probing, penetrating scrutiny, as if searching for some deeply-buried sign of treachery or unworthiness that he'd missed before, the badger then spoke. "Bandon, will you retake your oath of loyalty?"_

_Lowering himself to one knee and bowing his head, he readied himself for the questions to come, although he knew he would answer "yes" to every one of them._

"_Do you swear to leave your old life, and whatever crimes and shameful misdeeds you may have committed in the past, behind you for good?"_

_That part of the oath was worded with mostly vermin in mind, although a few woodlanders had less than wholesome backgrounds as well. In any event, Bandon had no desire to return to the impoverished existence of his old robber gang. _

"_I do," he answered. _

"_Do you swear your loyalty to my standard, and the ideals for which it stands?"_

"_I do."_

"_Do you swear to conduct yourself as a loyal and committed member of this army, to take your training in the arts of honorable combat, to be a true and faithful comrade to your fellow soldiers, and to show courtesy and respect to all non-fighting beasts of the lands?"_

"_I do."_

"_Do you swear to devote your life to the vanquishment of tyranny and villainy, and to work toward the goal of a free and prosperous land where all beasts live in harmony, regardless of origin or species?" _

"_I do." _

"_Do you swear to serve dutifully under my command until death relieves you of that obligation, or until such a time as you merit an honourable discharge from my forces?"_

"_I do," the stoat said, though he knew that only death could ever release him from Urthblood's service – any other life was unthinkable to him now. _

"_And do you solemnly swear," the badger intoned, reciting the special part of the oath reserved for captains, "to be a just and courageous leader to the beasts under your command, to stand as an example and inspiration to all those who follow you, and to lay down your life for your troops if such proves necessary?"_

"_I do so solemnly swear," Bandon recited as he'd been instructed, doing his best to tone down his Northlands accent for the occasion. _

_Urthblood turned to Machus, who produced a sword recently forged by the Badger Lord himself - his customary gift to all his new captains. It was not dissimilar to the swords wielded by the foxes who served under Machus; the fact that every member of the swordfox brigade was granted a weapon normally reserved for captains spoke of their skill and the clout they held in Urthblood's forces. _

_The badger motioned for the stoat to rise and held out the sword for him. "Then I appoint you Captain Bandon of the stoat brigade. May your service be long and successful, and may your deeds be many and great and long remembered."_

_Bandon accepted the sword and then turned toward the two hundred beasts assembled here for this ceremony. His ceremony. His heart sang with pride at the very thought of this, and of what he had achieved. Doing his best to maintain a proper officer's composure rather than break out in the happy grin that was trying to escape from inside him, Bandon raised his new sword to let the sunlight gleam off of it. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, and soon a clearly intoned chant arose from the massed troops, a single name echoing across the landscape:_

"_Bandon, Bandon, Bandon, Bandon, Bandon…"_

* * *

What we have here is a first for me, and for the Urthblood Saga as a whole: a dedicated flashback sequence written in italics. As an inspiration for this, I'd like to cite the wonderful Nievelion, who uses this technique regularly in his own stories. You'll be seeing more of these in this story (some of which will be decidedly less pleasant than this one) and I hope you'll find them enjoyable rather than confusing.

Most of the particulars of this scene - the ceremony, the oath Bandon has to swear, the names of the other stoat captains and the tradition of Urthblood presenting a specially made sword to all new captains - I had to come up with myself since they're not mentioned in Highwing's works. From my discussions with him, though, it seems they're the kind of things that could fit into Urthblood's army, and I'm glad I included them.


	3. Chapter 3

They were all dead. Dalubar, his second-in-command… Sepher, his onetime fellow robber, who'd followed him with such devotion ever since… Rigell, the young recruit who'd shown such promise and ought to have gone so far… Bandon's entire brigade had been wiped out. Only three stoats in the entire army had survived the battle, including him. Another was a lowly footsoldier who'd been wounded but, like Bandon, overlooked in the melee, and the third wasn't even part of his brigade. Broggen, who officially served under Abellon's mouse platoon, had somehow avoided being slain by the bloodthirsty hares, despite being chained to the body of his mate Jans, who'd been struck down by a Long Patrol javelin. Aside from those two and himself, not a single stoat remained.

When he'd sworn his oath of captaincy to Urthblood, Bandon had promised to lay down his life for his troops if need be. Instead, it seemed, they had all lain down their lives for him. The very thought that they had all died while he survived - and in a state sure to end his soldiering days forever - rankled him to his core.

The other vermin regiments hadn't fared much better. Only a single ferret had survived the battle, the rats' enormous losses were only balanced by the fact that there had been a lot more of them to begin with, and even the weasel company, stationed farther up the mountain slopes back from the front lines, had suffered significant casualties. At least the weasels could take comfort in the fact that their captain, Mattoon, had survived unscathed. The others…

Perrett the Ferret… How often everybeast had teased him about that silly name, which belied his superb military abilities and wonderful comradeship. Bandon had shared closer ties to Perrett than any other captain, ever since the difficult time after Perrett's friend Kedrin had turned traitor and tried to poison Lord Urthblood, the ferret's treachery earning him a grisly end at the badger's paws. Bandon opted to stand by his fellow commander to offer comfort and companionship when it might have been easier to distance himself from the ferret captain. At least Perrett met his end like a true warrior, managing to dispatch two Long Patrol hares even after getting his own footpaw cut off by the mad Urthfist. How Bandon wished he could've gone out like that.

Lorsch and Cermak… If anybeast had met those two bickering, grousing rats who came off more like country ruffians than proper commanders, they'd have rightly wondered how the rodent pair could ever be deemed fit to lead troops in battle. But everybeast who actually saw them do it - saw Lorsch and Cermak's selfless bravery on display in the thick of the fight and the dedication they inspired in their rats, as well as their utter devotion to their badger master's cause - knew better. No enemy or ally would never doubt them again after seeing what they could do. Now, only the memory of their bold spirits would ever inspire Urthblood's rats to great deeds again.

And then there was Machus - Urthblood's senior and most trusted officer, leader of the fabled swordfox brigade, who'd served with the Badger Lord for nearly the entire Northlands campaigns. Bandon would have believed that anybeast else could die in the battle, but not Machus. No greater loss could Urthblood have suffered than losing the valiant swordsbeast who served as his right paw - not even the loss of his actual sword paw in his duel with Urthfist. And that loss was not just Urthblood's alone; while the lower ranks and the other brigades had sometimes resented Machus and his foxes for their perceived arrogance and self-righteous attitude, there was nobeast they looked up to and depended upon more in the heat of battle, or who could maintain discipline throughout the army in the absence of their badger master.

Machus had died not just as a warrior, but as a hero. During Urthblood's duel with his brother at the end of the battle (or so went the accounts which had reached the bedridden stoat), a Long Patrol hare had treacherously assailed Urthblood from behind and caused him to stumble, which gave Urthfist the opportunity to hack off Urthblood's swordpaw. Urthblood might have perished then, if Machus hadn't courageously rushed forward to drive his sword into Urthfist's side, causing the mad badger to spin around and behead him. His sacrifice bought Urthblood the precious moments he needed to retrieve his sword and run it through Urthfist's skull, ending the great conflict between Badger Lords once and for all. The fox would be honoured and remembered far and wide for his final, heroic act.

And what a contrast that was to Bandon himself. While all the stoat captain's friends and comrades had died, he remained…as a useless, one-legged cripple.

It was the first night after the battle, or so he'd been told, since day and night were indistinguishable this deep inside the mountain. More and more wounded beasts kept being brought in from the battlefield for the foxes and their helpers to treat. And from time to time, Bandon also saw still, sheet-covered forms carried out of the makeshift sick bay, further victims of the battle's horrendous violence succumbing to their injuries despite the healers' best efforts. By now the place was filled to the brim with casualties, with nowhere near enough beds to hold them all, forcing the newer arrivals to make do with mattresses and blankets on the stone floor. Most slept, with the aid of potions to ease their pain and help keep their pained moans from disturbing the peace of their fellow patients.

Bandon desperately wished he could join them in the escape of slumber, but he could not. Partly it was the dull pain of his severed footpaw, partly the terrible realization of what that severed paw signified for him. He kept staring at the bandaged stump as it lay there on the pillow, the swordfox Sappakit having kept his promise to change the dressings earlier that day.

Nobeast had outright said it to him yet, but he knew what his lost limb meant. He could no longer remain a captain, or be part of Lord Urthblood's army. He would only be a burden in battle, stumbling around on a wooden leg, and he'd never command the respect of any new troops assigned to him. It might have been a different matter if he had lost, say, his southpaw; he could at least still strap a shield to it and use it defensively. Hellgates, even the loss of his swordpaw wouldn't have crippled him like this; Broggen had learned to fight southpaw (and with a javelin, no less) after being chained to Jans, and if that stoat could do it, Bandon could too. But if he only had one leg to stand on… there was no hope for him.

All that remained for him now was to receive his discharge from Lord Urthblood, the one thing he thought would never happen, and then… Yes, what would he do then? He knew nothing except the life of a fighting beast. Even before he'd joined up with his old robber band, he'd travelled with his father's crew, getting by on theft and plunder. He had no idea how to make an honest living except as a soldier. He'd have a hard time getting by or living the life of an honest creature even if he wasn't hampered by the loss of his left foot. Most likely, he could look forward to little more than a life as a wretched beggar, parlaying his disability into sympathy from kind-hearted beasts who might lend him some aid on occasion. And that was not a life the former captain of Urthblood's stoat brigade was prepared to lead.

He knew of soldiers who'd been in similar positions to his, whether they'd received honourable discharges due to injuries or dishonourable ones due to various infractions and disobedience. Facing the same lack of a future he did, some chose to take their own lives out of sheer despair. The way he felt now, he understood their actions completely. The only honourable course left to him now was to hobble away to a cliff and throw himself over it. Such a swift, clean ending would be far preferable to the slow death of body and spirit that awaited him otherwise.

As the night wore on, a number of moles started entering the chamber. Alone among Urthblood's troops, they had been held in reserve inside the mountain during the battle, and as a result hadn't lost a single member of their Tunnel and Trencher Corps. Now, with the fighting over and the surviving soldierbeasts either utterly exhausted or recovering from their wounds, the moles stepped forward to perform their role in these events - a role for which they were imminently suited. With hundreds of slain decorating the mountainside, they'd have their digging claws full.

One of them, a younger mole with the look of a fresh recruit about him, approached the fox Korix, who happened to be close to Bandon's bed. The diggerbeast was dirty, sweaty, drained, and even through the dark colour of his fur seemed to have gone pale. He looked to Korix with pleading in his little eyes.

"Maister Korix," he said, his voice thick with worry, "Emyr, be 'ee…?"

Korix sighed and lowered his eyes, giving the mole a definite if unspoken answer to the hanging question. "I'm sorry, Ansgar. We did everything we could, but his wounds were just too severe. We'll have him carried out so he can be properly buried along his fellow mice."

The fox gave Ansgar a comforting pat on the shoulder before moving on to attend to his other patients, leaving the mole standing in the middle of the infirmary, his entire posture clearly expressing his anguish. His head and shoulders slumped in sorrow, eyes closed as tears started welling up in them. He turned to leave, but then Bandon suddenly called out to him, "What happened?"

Ansgar turned his tear-stained face to the one-legged stoat captain in surprise, as if unsure why Bandon might be interested in the mole's personal tragedy. Truth be told, Bandon wasn't entirely sure either. Maybe he just wanted somebeast to commiserate with, rather than continue wallowing in his own misfortune. Moles were generally sympathetic and friendly creatures, and if you could understand their accents, they usually made for good company.

"You'm be Bandon," Ansgar asked him in characteristic Molespeech, "captain o' ee stoaters, gudd zurr?"

"I am," he responded. Then he glanced down at his severed leg again. "Well, former captain, anyway…"

The mole nodded and told Bandon what had happened. "Emyr wurr moi close friend, frum 'ee mouser brigade. Whoile uz molers wurr kept insoide, ee went out t' do battle with Lord Urthfist an' 'is 'ares. Oi wurr so worried, afeared ee moight get 'imself slayed, oi made 'im promise t' be careful an' stay safe. When oi went out afterwards t' search thru ee bodies an' 'elp wi' ee burials, ee wurr one of ee furst oi found. Poor Emyr still bee'd aloive, but ee 'ad a Long Patrol spear stabbed thru 'is belly. They'm foxers took 'im in, an'oi wanted t' cum with 'im, watch o'er 'im an be boi 'is soide, but t'was told oi wurr needed outsoide n' wudd only be in ee way whoile they'm troid to 'eal 'im. All th' toime oi wurr out thurr, oi kept prayin' an' 'opin ee'd make it, that thurr'd not be another death this 'orrible day… but t'were all in vain…"

The tears flowed freely down Ansgar's cheeks, and he tried to wipe them away with his dirty digging claw. As Bandon looked him over, he noticed that large patches of dark, dried blood stained the mole's fur and clothing. That made sense, considering the kind of work the mole had been forced to perform all day and night.

"I'm sorry, Ansgar," he said softly, motioning for the mole to sit down by his bed. The digger beast gratefully accepted and slumped down on his haunches against the wall.

"An' et doan't jus' be Emyr…." he said, continuing to open his heart to the stoat. "Oi'm new in ee army, only jus' joined oop with ee Tunneller 'n' Trencher Corps afore uz started ee march t' Mossflower. Oi b'aint never 'ad to dig burrials afore t'day. Oi knew when oi b'came part of ee molecrew oi'd 'ave 't do such 'orrible tasks, but oi'd never 'ave imagerned eet'd be so turrible…"

His flesh turned visibly paler under his fur, his expression clearly conveying that talk of these things turned his stomach. But he forced himself to go on.

"Oi wurr down on ee slopes whurr ee vurmin- urr, ratters an' ferrets an' weasels 'ad been slayed boi Urthfist's blade. Boi Dark Furrest, oi ne'er wudd've imagerned beasts bein' butcherrd loik that! They'm 'eads an' limbs scattered everywhurr, sloiced in two with they'm insoides all 'anging out, bludd all o'er ee place an' ee 'orrible stench o'death in ee air… Oi 'adta pick oop all ee 'eads, arms, legs an' other bits, some frumm beasts oi'd been friends with… That badger 'ad t' be mad, causin' such slaughter… All 'em poor beasts…"

His tears welling up again, Ansgar buried his face in his claws. Bandon reached out and laid a paw on his visitor's shoulder. Even though the thick mole accent had made him miss the occasional word, Bandon still sympathized with the poor beast's torment, having to face the loss of a dear friend and then being forced to confront such horrible carnage during burial duty. He'd initiated conversation with Ansgar in the hope that he might have somebeast to share his troubles with, but so far it seemed he was the one who had to comfort the distraught mole. It didn't really matter, though – simply being so close to another creature and providing solace, even in such a small way, was enough.

"Oi knows oi b'aint ought t' be complainin'," Ansgar went on. "Uz molers got off loight, bein' kept insoide an' not seein' any actshul battle an' all survoivin'. Only roight n' proper uz gotta clean oop ee mess afterwurds. But… oi just b'ain't shure if'n oi can keep oop doin' this, facin' such turrible soights." He looked at the stoat with watery eyes. "Do all battles be loik this?"

"They're never pleasant," Bandon answered. "But ain't never been a battle like this before. Never been two Badger Lords fightin' each other, far as I know. None o' us were prepared t' face a foe like Urthfist. When a badger, 'specially a Badger Lord of Salamandastron who's been trained in the arts o' war all his life, gets in th' grip of the Bloodwrath… 'tis unbelievable th' kinda damage 'ee can inflict on lesser beasts."

Ansgar nodded in agreement; while he'd not witnessed Urthfist in action, he had certainly seen the results of the rampaging badger's violence well enough while attending his duties. He glanced over to where the stump of Bandon's left footpaw lay upon its pillow. "'cluding you, seems loik…" he commented sadly.

The stoat sighed. "Aye, that 'ee did… an' he took more'n just me leg. He took away my entire future!" His voice turned harsher. "I been servin' Urthblood fer seasons. I fought thru th' Wilcat Wars, I put down Gelchart's rebellion, I been in countless battles. I was one o' Urthblood's most honour'd 'n' trusted commanders. An' what'm I now? Just a worthless cripple who'll hafta live off th' charity of others fer the rest o' me life. An' all 'cuz that crazed, black-striped butcher couldn't stand th' thought o' stoats bein' treated like decent creatures!"

"Well, thurr wurr ee Lurdship o'er ee mountain they'm be foighten about too ... " Ansgar reminded his companion, although his soft voice seemed almost like the ghost of an echo in the aftermath of Bandon's outburst.

In fact, so loud had been Bandon's angry tirade that several beasts in the infirmary lifted their heads to turn their curious, and irritated, gazes his way. In particular, a couple of Long Patrol hares, whom Urthblood had magnanimously elected to treat along with his own warriors, threw venomous looks at him for disparaging their late master. Bandon sank back in embarrassment.

"Sorry. I know I oughta be strong 'n' an example to th' lower ranks, even in my state. But… I jus' can't right now…"

The mole clearly tried to think of something to say cheer up the despondent stoat. "Oi doan't be a-thinkin' you'm be wurthless…"

Ansgar was interrupted by somebeast at his other side stirring from their sleep. Raising himself slowly from the mattress he lay upon, a lanky swordfox gave a wide yawn before turning his weary eyes towards the two of them. It took some moments for Bandon to recognize the vulpine as Mykola, the short-legged fox who'd served under Machus with distinction for seasons despite his lameness. Mykola's black uniform had been removed, leaving him dressed only in bandages wrapped around his chest where a Long Patrol rapier had carved a rather nasty gash, his blanket wrapped around his flanks for modesty's sake.

"Bandon?" Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the fox addressed the stoat. "You were speaking so loudly you woke me up. Is something the matter?"

Bandon shook his head. "No more'n what y' see, Mikky. Sorry 'bout wakin' ye. I'm just lyin' here feelin' sorry fer meself, forcin' this poor mole 'ere t' listen t' me goin' on 'bout all me misfortunes."

"Oh." Mykola turned towards the smaller beast sitting on the floor between them. "I don't think we've met? I'm Mykola, in case you didn't catch it."

"Ansgar, zurr," the mole replied softly.

"He's new to th' army," Bandon explained. "Today were 'is first burial duty. 'ee lost some close friends."

The fox gave Ansgar a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Ansgar. Nobeast should have to lose dear friends or see the things you've had to see, especially somebeast as young and fresh as you are."

The mole shook his head. "Thankee, gudd zurr, but oi doan't be wurthy o' yore pity. Oi jus' satten on moi tail durin' ee battle whoile you an' moi friends t'wur out doiyin'. Save et fer they'm beasties outsoide 'oo suffered 'n' gave ee loives."

"Just because you didn't see fighting – which was never your assigned role in this battle anyway – doesn't make this terrible day any easier for you. You deserve compassion as much as anybeast."

Ansgar smiled faintly. "Oi gurtly 'preciate ee concernment, Maister Meekolla zurr, boi okey. Still, oi reckern Bandon needs moar compassion'n oi – ee lost frienders an' 'is left hindpaw."

"Ah, yes," the fox turned his gaze and concern to the one-legged stoat. "I noticed that when they brought me here to rest beside you. I'm… deeply sorry for your loss, Bandon." From the look on his face, it was clear Mykola had wanted to find something better to say, but couldn't. "I can't even imagine how this must feel for you…"

The stoat looked down at his stump. "The leg ain't so bad by itself. It's th' fact I can't be a captain no more that pains me most."

"Yes, I understood that's what it would mean for you. Has anybeast visited you yet to inform you about it?"

"No. Guess Urthblood an' yer fellow foxes've got yer paws too full right now t' fuss over yet another post-battle cripple…"

"Cripple?" The fox looked at him askance. "I'm not sure I'd go so far as to call you that. Your right leg still looks fine to me, and your left footpaw was only lost about halfway up to the knee. I mean, it could have been a lot worse. I've known beasts who've had their backs broken, whether in combat or by accident. They lost control of both their legs and their lower bodies. They couldn't walk, had trouble sitting up and sometimes couldn't even control their bladders properly. You should be thankful nothing like that happened to you."

That sobered Bandon up a bit. "Yeah… I guess I'm lucky compared to what coulda happened t' me. But… I jus' can't feel grateful 'bout much of anything right now. Truth be told, I wish I'd died out there with me troops. I'd at least've gone out like a true warrior, rather than spendin' the rest of me days as a helpless invalid."

"Don't say that!" the fox implored. "You won't be a helpless invalid – there'll be plenty of things you can still do."

"Like what?" the stoat challenged. "After I'm thrown outta th' army, I'll hafta go back to th' Northlands as a crippled ex-captain. I've got no family who'll support me, 'n' me friends're all dead. At best, I'll end up as a miserable beggar."

"Come now, Bandon. Do you really think Lord Urthblood would just abandon a loyal captain who's served him so well all these seasons? He'll see to it that you get to live a good life as a reward for your faithful devotion to him. He knows plenty of homesteads and settlements in the North who'd be only too willing to take you in and take care of you. Former officers who've retired from His Lordship's army are popular and respected. They'll be glad to have you among them."

Bandon's mood lightened a bit. Now that he thought about it, of course it struck him as ridiculous that his badger master would just throw him aside like a broken weapon whose usefulness was now at an end. But that might still reduce Bandon to leeching off the charity of others, and the proud stoat officer was not sure he'd be able to do that.

As if having read his mind, however, Mykola continued, "As for finding something to do now that you're no longer an armybeast, having only one footpaw shouldn't prevent you from that. As soon as your stump has healed over properly, we'll whip up a good wooden replacement for you and you should be as good as new. If you still want to help out with Lord Urthblood's forces, we can send raw recruits for you to drill into proper shape. And there are lots of occupations that don't require the full use of both legs. Do you know any trades you can perform?"

The stoat pondered this for a few moments. "No… no, I don't reckon I do. That's th' problem." He sighed and looked at the fox. "Mikky… I'm really grateful that ye're tryin' to cheer me up." He gave the mole by his side an appreciative nod as well. "You 'n' Ansgar both. Ye're absolutely right that I should learn t' get on with me life, even in the wake o' losin' me footpaw an' my captaincy. An' I know I coulda been worse off, that I oughta be glad I ain't lyin' out there, buried 'neath the earth like hunnerds of other beasts. Ain't no point in wallowin' in my miseries, I understand that.

"It's just… I don't know any other path than that of a warrior. Ain't never been anythin' else - 'ceptin' a bandit an' a thief. Military life's become such an important part o' me, definin' who I am. If I was t' leave that behind, even if I could lead an acceptable life… t'would almost feel like a betrayal o' who I'm meant t' be. While ye're off gatherin' glory on th' field o' battle, fulfillin' yer destiny, I'll be stuck in th' life of a civilian. That's why I wish I was lyin' under the sands wi' me troops – not only did I fail 'em by not bein' able t' save a single one, but if I weren't a warrior… I'd be nothin'…"

A silence fell over the three beasts for a time, broken only by the snores and murmurs and occasional pained groans of the resting patients, along with the muted movements of the fox healers going about their duties. Ansgar gazed away from his companions awkwardly, discomfited by the stoat's palpable state of misery. Mykola continued looking at Bandon, seemingly at a loss as to what to say, unable to think of anything that would comfort the stoat. But then, remembering a recent incident from his own life, the swordfox leaned forward to look deeply and sincerely into the former captain's eyes.

"Bandon, I know I said earlier that I couldn't imagine how you felt. But now I think I can, even if only a little. You see, I went through something similar recently…"

This piqued the stoat's interest, and he cocked his ears forward.

"Well, I didn't lose one of my limbs, so it's not quite the same thing. But I was at risk of losing a very important part of myself. I was… despondent, terrified and unsure what I was even living for, as if all that I believed in and strove for was wrong. Some of those fears and nagging doubts still haunt me. I almost abandoned my beliefs and became what… certain other beasts wanted me to be. "

Gazing upon the lame fox's features, Bandon could clearly see how painful these memories were to him. It seemed he did understand, at least to some degree, the turmoil that the stoat was going through.

Mykola's features softened a bit as he continued. "But I had a… friend who convinced me to do otherwise." At this, a look of grief flashed across his face. "At my moment of deepest despair, he convinced me not to give in to the contempt of others, and to stay true to myself. His understanding and support helped me through those difficult days, and gave me the strength to not surrender to all those dark thoughts that swarmed my mind. 'Don't give up hope,' he said, 'there's always hope'…"

At first, Bandon merely sat there silence. Then he asked: "That were durin' th' Wolfrum incident, weren't it?" The fox nodded, seeming a little nervous now that he'd brought it up. Many officers in Urthblood's army had show contempt over Mykola's guardianship and friendliness toward the viscious rat, especially after the accident Wolfrum had caused at Redwall. Mykola had always been a soft-hearted and lenient beast, in contrast to most of his fellow swordfoxes. Bandon numbered among those who'd disapproved of Mykola's approach to Wolfrum, and other similar troublesome beasts. But he knew now wasn't the time to bring that up, not when the fox had offered moral support to him at his time of greatest need.

"Mykola, I know we've 'ad our diff'rences 'bout Wolfie, but I'm really sorry it turned out like it did. Ye did yer best, an' that's somethin' ye gotta respect in anybeast."

"Thank you," the fox answered softly, appreciating his conciliatory tone, then mustered himself to go on. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say, Bandon, is that when something tragic happens to you, whether it's the loss of a limb, the loss of a friend - " he looked at Ansgar, who lowered his head mournfully, " - or a challenge to everything you believe in, and when you're so mired in despair that you just want to die to escape it, you feel as if it will last forever. But it doesn't. It passes. These next few days, when the loss of your paw and your old life with it is at its most overwhelming, will be very difficult for you. But you must keep in mind that these days - and these feelings - will not be with you for the rest of your life."

He sighed and looked down. "Bandon, I realize there's a big difference between what happened to me and what's happened to you. In my case, I was distraught over having my core beliefs challenged and shaken; you've lost a physical part of yourself, and what you hoped to be your future. You have every right to feel the way you do. But you must not let your feelings of loss consume you, and you must always look to the future. And you _do _have a future. You might think that you absolutely need to be a warrior to live a worthwhile life, but nobeast needs to be anything to do that. All you need to be is what you've always been – a loyal, brave and noble goodbeast."

That last part gave Bandon a bit of pause, but before he had time to dwell on it, the fox went on. "In the time that you will remain here at Salamandastron, we will be here for you. When you feel like this, it's always important to have somebeast there for you - and you will. Lord Urthblood will come to you soon, tomorrow perhaps, to issue you your discharge and share with you suggestions for what you might do after you leave military service. He may even have some definite plans for you, and opt to keep you in his service - who can say? Experienced captains are not to be dismissed lightly. Whatever he decides, you'll be able to rest up here while your wound heals. We'll craft a nice wooden leg for you and teach you how to walk with it. If you don't know any non-fighting craft, you can learn, here or someplace else. And if Lord Urthblood does discharge you, when it's time for you to return to the Northlands, you'll be escorted to a homestead that will take you in as an honoured member, where you can enjoy a life of peace and quiet. Does that sound so bad?"

Bandon thought about everything Mykola had said. He seriously doubted anything but a formal discharge lay in his immediate future, and in his forlorn state, the alternative still didn't sound very attractive, not compared to the life he'd always thought he'd lead. But when he looked at it objectively, from the perspective of a beast who wasn't so tied down to the life of a warrior… "No, I guess it doesn't…"

The fox flashed an encouraging smile. "There you go! As long as there's life, there's hope, and you have your whole life in front of you. Even if had been worse for you - say, by getting your back broken, like the beasts I mentioned earlier - that still wouldn't have prevented you from being able to lead a meaningful existence. That you got off comparatively lightly simply makes it easier for you to do so. In fact, once you've gotten used to your wooden leg - " he pulled up the blanket a bit to give the stoat a better view of his own shorter left hindpaw, " - it shouldn't be too much different from how I walk."

They shared a chuckle at that, joined in by the gruff chortling of Ansgar, who'd been content to listen into their conversation in silence. "So, my point is," Mykola concluded, "before you throw yourself on your sword, at least try and experience a bit more of life to see whether it'll really be all that terrible for you. Throwing it all away before you've done even that much would be foolish in the extreme."

Bandon leaned back against his pillow, letting all the fox had said sink into him. _There's always hope…_Yes, that could very well be true. Especially if he had beasts like Mykola and Ansgar around, maybe he could tough his way through all of this. It was important to have sympathetic creatures around you in your darkest hours, a truth he had never truly appreciated until now.

He couldn't help but wonder who it was that had supported Mykola during the fox's own moments of crisis. "Th' beast who 'elped you back at Redwall, an' convinced ye t' stay true to yerself, who were that?"

With this question, Mykola's expression turned from encouraging and warm to sad and mournful, not entirely unlike what the stoat imagined he himself must have looked like a short time before. _By the fur, I hope I haven't made _him_ depressed now! _But Mykola merely lowered his gaze and answered softly, "Liam…"

Liam? Yes, it made sense that the compassionate rat would've been there for the fox when he needed it the most. But why had Mykola…?

"Oh…" the stoat murmured softly as he understood just why the swordfox had suddenly turned so forlorn. "Is he…?"

"Yes… I heard the news shortly before I fell asleep. When I lay here in the infirmary and the hours passed without him showing up to visit me, I feared the worst. Then Korix came to confirm that…"

Mykola stopped without finishing, tears welling up in his eyes. He didn't have to go on, however. The message was clear: Liam, the kindly and capable rat sergeant who had been so popular and well-liked among all who'd known him, was dead.

While Bandon hadn't known Liam closely, he had met the rat enough times to see firstpaw what a superb sergeant he was, and how brave and good-hearted he had been. If he'd survived, he might even have been made captain himself someday. But it seemed he was yet another of the hundreds of souls whose futures had been taken away from them by the madness of Urthfist and his fanatical hares this day. It was almost enough to make his own eyes tear up.

He knew that this would be much more difficult for Mykola than anybeast else, though. Liam had been one of the few soldiers of any consequence in the army to wholeheartedly share the short-legged fox's belief that all beasts, no matter how wicked, deserved sympathy, concern and a chance at redemption, and who had supported Mykola through all the seasons he had tried to reform Wolfrum. While Bandon had never agreed with that viewpoint, he truly felt sorry over the fox losing perhaps his closest friend. Without Liam by his side, it would be much more difficult for Mykola to continue serving under Urthblood, especially given that his views were rather unpopular in some quarters.

The tears finally broke free from the corners of Mykola's eyes to trickle down the fox's cheeks; it spoke of his soft-hearted nature that he allowed them to flow openly in front of others. Ansgar, for the first time in quite awhile, made his presence known by reaching out with his digging claw to put it over the fox's right paw in a friendly gesture. Mykola gratefully accepted it.

"Oi wurr out thurr on ee battlefield when 'is… body wurr found," he said. His two companions looked at the mole attentively. "Summ ratters 'oo'd survived ee battle 'elped uz oidenterfoiy ee corpses. They'm let uz know t'were Liam… t'was 'speshully sad when ee saw 'im. Pore ratter must've been slayed boi Urthfist, cuz…" Ansgar looked uncertain whether to share such gruesome details with the grieving fox, but at Mykola's nodding, he went on. "…cuz 'ee'd been… cleft en twain. Roight 'cross 'is chest…" He ran his claw across his torso to grimly demonstrate what he meant. "Must've doied roight quick, an' near painless," he added awkwardly, trying to find something positive to say about the macabre account.

The fox nodded again, wiping the tears from his face with his free paw. "It seems I'm the one who needs comforting now…" he said. "I'm sorry…"

"At least ye're feelin' sorry fer others, mate," Bandon told him. "I'm just feelin' sorry fer me own mangy hide. Well, that ain't entirely true… It boggles th' mind t' think of all those unfortunate creatures who lost their lives this dark day. Like yer commander, Machus…"

"Yes." Mykola gave a mournful sigh. "I was rushed inside for treatment before the battle was decided, so I never witnessed his final moments. I didn't believe it at first when they told me Machus had been killed. I could accept Liam's death, however reluctantly, but not my Sword's. It didn't seem possible that he could ever fall in battle. Lord Urthblood's most loyal and respected commander, the greatest captain in his army… and the leader of my brigade. I had my differences with him, as you likely know, but my admiration and respect for him ran to my very heart. I still can't believe he's truly gone… him and half of my swordfox comrades…"

He looked back at Bandon, his cheeks still stained with tears. "Though you fared worse than me by far. You're one of only three surviving stoats, isn't that correct?"

"Aye," Bandon responded as he lowered his gaze. "When I felt as glum as I just did, t'weren't simply 'cos o' my lost foot an' captaincy. T'was 'cos I felt I'd failed my troops, survivin' in this sorry state while they'd all died. If they'd still been here, if I could know they were safe an' alright, this'd all be easier. But t' know all my friends're gone, an' that I'm all alone…"

Mykola nodded. "I understand. The stoat and ferret regiments definitely fared the worst. I had friends, or at least acquaintances, among them too. It's just… terrible what happened to them. But you did _not _fail them, Bandon, regardless of what you think. You led them honourably and courageously, exactly like a captain is supposed to. You just weren't prepared for an opponent like Urthfist. None of us were. As it happened, you survived while most died. Fate can be cruel sometimes."

"An' doan't forget ee shrews," Ansgar put in. "They'm be ee only woodlander regerment t' lose a cap'n, an' they'm fared almost as bad as ee stoaters 'n' furrets. An' uz also gotta 'member our enemies ee Long Patrol wurr almost woiped out too."

Bandon considered this. While he felt sorry for Bremo and his shrews, he just couldn't feel the same way about Urthfist's hares. Not after what they'd done to him and his comrades. It was inevitable in any battle that you lost creatures you knew and were close to, but there shouldn't even have been a battle… if only that badger had seen reason and tried to negotiate with Lord Urthblood instead of running in like a madbeast, eagerly followed by his hares who caused so much death and destruction. That was something he just couldn't forgive.

Mykola seemed to view it differently, however. "You're right, Ansgar. We must always keep in mind the suffering our enemies endure in any battle. If we are to dispense death to our foes and end their time in this world, to deprive them of everything they are and everything they ever could have been, then it falls to us to consider everything that means - to them and to us. That is the only way we can remain proper goodbeasts." He returned the mole's earlier gesture by putting his paw on the smaller beast's shoulder. "We all need comfort, it seems - you, me and Bandon. We've all lost friends and seen horrible things this day. We have to stick together and care for each other if we are to get through these dark times with our spirits intact. I'm glad that I got to talk to you now, both of you. Sharing your troubles with other beasts after such a tragedy is always important, and I couldn't have found better creatures for that."

"Yes…" Bandon agreed. "Thanks fer takin' the time an' effort to talk to a wretched stoat like meself, an' puttin' up with all my self-pity. What… what you said t' me was good advice, Mikky, an'… I think I'll follow it. I'll try t' see if I can't brave it through this an' make a new life fer myself."

The short-pawed fox gave him a warm smile. "That's the spirit, Bandon!"

"An' 'member", added Ansgar, "uz'll allers both be 'ere fer you'm."

He knew they would.

They talked for a little while longer, before the mole went off and the fox and stoat once again lay down to resume their rest. For the first time since Bandon had found out about his severed footpaw, sleep claimed him.

* * *

_And here we get to see Mykola again, from my Wolfrum story! I hope you don't consider it pompous of me to add my fan character to this story, but it felt appropriate to have him here. It lets readers of my previous writings know that he's okay and lets him serve as one of the beasts who helps Bandon along on his journey to recovery. Also, while Liam's fate is already made clear in "Waiting for the Worms", I wanted to give some greater details on exactly what happened to him, and to show Mikky's reaction to his death. We'll be seeing a bit more of the short-legged fox in the coming chapters._

_I also added Ansgar as another recurring character, to Highwing's dismay. Molespeech is… not the easiest accent to write, and I tried to do a bit of that myself, just like I did with the vermin accents. But Highwing ultimately had to do most of the work on that, for which I'm grateful. The reason for Ansgar is a little similar to that of Caful the hedgehog from "Worms" – to show a mole who actually has to go through his own personal crisis, rather than the go-lucky bundles of happiness they're usually portrayed as. I hope you will come to like him, despite his accent :P_

_The part where Mykola says that we have to consider the lives we take from our enemies and all that means was actually put there by Wing in his edits. It's based on a similar line from the Clint Eastwood film "Unforgiven". I think it really fits Mikky – thanks for putting it in there, Ol' Featherbag!_


	4. Chapter 4

Bandon awoke the next morning to find the infirmary abuzz with quiet activity. The foxes circulated between the beds and patients, checking on the state of the wounded, most of who seemed to be awake and alert like the stoat captain. Fortunately, Bandon could discern no beasts missing from the night before; it appeared that any casualties who'd made it through this first night would likely pull through.

When the foxes noticed Bandon was awake, they immediately saw to changing his dressings. This afforded him his first look at his unbandaged leg. Where his left footpaw and much of his lower leg had once been, all that remained was a swollen stump covered in dried blood. As he would learn in detail some time later, the first thing the healerbeasts had done upon bringing Bandon in from the field of battle was to leave a flap of skin bare, which they had later folded over the wound and stitched closed. The stump was furless, exposing the pale skin underneath; apparently the foxes had shaved it to make it easier to work with. Along the side of the stump was line of heavy stitches where they'd sewn the flap shut, where the blood had seeped out. It wasn't exactly horrifying – Bandon had certainly seen worse in his time – but to see such a wound on his own body was entirely different, and something he'd hoped never to behold. The gruesome sight served as a stark reminder of how radically his life was about to change.

Having cleaned off the stump – eliciting a few groans and stifled pained cries from the stoat, as the wound was still quite sensitive at this point – and checking it for possible infections around the swelling, the foxes promptly re-bandaged it. Then it was time for breakfast. Bandon hadn't eaten anything since before the battle and was absolutely famished. Sappakit sent for a decent meal to be brought to the former captain. A short while later, to Bandon's surprise, Ansgar entered the large chamber, carrying a heavily-laden tray.

"Hey, I didn't expect ye back here so soon."

"Oi wurr doawn boi ee kitcherns when oi 'eard et wurr mealtoime fer ee sickbeats, Maister Bandon," the mole said as he put the tray across the stoat's lap. "Thought oi moight's well bring ee yore brekkist moiself."

"Breakfast in bed!" Mykola called out from his mattress as another mole brought the fox a tray of his own. "You have to admit, being treated for your battlefield wounds do bring a few perks with it."

Bandon couldn't help but agree. It was nice getting pampered like this, despite the loss he'd suffered. And it was a splendid breakfast he'd been provided: a bowl of steaming hot fish chowder – no doubt courtesy of the otters' fishing trips – along with bread and cheese, assorted vegetables and nuts and a small pitcher of wine with a glass. Gazing briefly across the other patients in the chamber who'd also been served their morning meals, Bandon noticed that most seemed to have received trays far less elaborate. Being a captain, even a former one, had its perks as well, apparently.

Returning his gaze to the tray, Bandon eyed the pitcher. Deciding to avail himself of Mykola's expertise as a healer, he turned and asked, "Are ye sure it's safe t' drink any spirits so soon after losin' a leg?"

"It would certainly be unwise to go on a drinking binge," answered the fox, who'd been provided with wine of his own, "which some beasts do to drown their sorrows. That can lead to complications. But if you keep it in moderation there should be no problem." Pouring a bit of the red drink into his glass, Mykola raised it to the stoat. "Cheers!"

Bandon filled his own glass and returned the toast, then took a long sip, letting the wine trickle down his parched throat. It was good, though he didn't recognize the vintage. Maybe the Long Patrol had their own cellars which the new lord of the mountain had "borrowed" from.

As he was about to tuck into his meal, he remembered the mole who'd been kind enough to bring it to him. "Oh, sorry, Ansgar matey. Forgot all 'bout ye. Wouldja want some o' this, or…?"

"Nay," the mole shook his head. "Already 'ad moi brekkist. Oi need t' rejoin moi fellow molers roight now, but oi'll troi 'n' cum see ee agin soon as oi' moight. Take ee gudd care o' yoreself, zurr."

Ansgar shuffled away, leaving Bandon to eat his breakfast in peace. It really was quite scrumptious; the cooks had obviously done their best with whatever was to be found in Salamandastron's larders, along with what the otters had brought in. It wasn't quite up to Redwall standards, but it was better by far than what Urthblood's army typically enjoyed - even the Badger Lord's captains…

He shook his head at such a ridiculous thought. If enjoying better food was a valid reason to quit Lord Urthblood's service, half the badger's forces would have abandoned him by now. Bandon would heed Mykola's counsel and seek to steer his mind toward the ways he could enjoy life as a civilian, but not by such insipid means.

Still, he did enjoy the food and drink, and afterwards put the tray aside to let the meal settle happily in his stomach. Leaning back in his bed to watch the comings and goings within the large subterranean chamber, he thought about his conversation with Mykola and Ansgar the night before, the advice and encouragement they'd given him and the prospects for his future. While he still felt a strong sadness over everything that had befallen him, he also had hope… and it was always important to have hope.

In the adjacent bed, Mykola had finished his own breakfast. Settling back against his pillow, the lame fox couldn't help but give a small burp. "Sorry," he apologized with a slight blush about his ears.

"No problem, mate," Bandon assured him with a lopsided grin. "Actshully, in some places up North, it's considr'd good manners t' burp after a healthy meal."

"Well, then you must've been to different places up there than I have, because I ... " Mykola let his inquiry trail off upon realizing that Bandon's rapt gaze had suddenly been drawn to the infirmary doorway. Turning to see what had caught the stoat's attention, any thought of continuing the discussion of Northlands etiquette quickly vanished.

Filling the entryway was none other than Lord Urthblood himself, the formidable badger's presence causing the hushed conversations and muted bustle of the chamber to taper off to near-silence as everybeast noticed him. Urthblood had made himself scarce since the end of the previous day's battle, too preoccupied with immediate concerns to look in on his wounded soldiers, and only occasionally glimpsed by the beasts who traversed the width and breadth of Salamandastron in the wake of the fighting. Nobeast begrudged Urthblood his absence; the badger went where he pleased, and if he deemed he had more pressing matters to attend to then checking in on the creatures who'd fought and bled for him, that was his decision to make.

At the badger's right side was Andrus, one of the seniormost swordfoxes to have emerged from the battle relatively unscathed. At Urthblood's left was Mattoon, captain of the weasel brigade and, aside from Bandon himself, the only surviving vermin captain. Together, this trio carried about them an aura and weight of authority which seemed out-of-place in the makeshift infirmary, leaving both patients and healers feeling rather uncomfortable and awkward.

Such mattered not to the badger, however, as he strode forward, trailed by his two cohorts. The healer foxes and the serving staff respectfully stepped aside, bowing their heads as their crimson-armoured master made his way among them. While Urthblood had never insisted on slavish devotion from his followers, the mere power of his presence here after the tumultuous events of the previous day – as evidenced by his missing swordpaw, the truncated appendage now encased in a heavy iron stump cap, as well as the glaring absence of Machus by his side – made everybeast feel that this moment deserved more reverence that would otherwise have been warranted.

Only the few hares of the Long Patrol, here to be treated for their wounds, failed to show any obvious deference. Their looks were decidedly less than respectful, although the ire and malice in their glares was tempered with trepidation over the presence of the badger who'd slain their own lord.

The imperious threesome came to stand before Bandon and Mykola, who greeted the Badger Lord and his companions with respectful nods. A look of empathy and camaraderie passed between Mattoon and the stoat, who shared the bond of allied captains and who both felt the terrible sense of loss over all that had happened. Among the five vermin captains who'd come down with Urthblood from the Northlands - aside from Machus, of course - the weasel had most often assumed the mantle of unofficial leader of their joint captaincies. Bandon was happy to have Mattoon here with him.

Urthblood gazed down upon the two beasts who had been wounded in his service, his striped face as stoic and unreadable as always. Bandon hoped that at least something akin to sympathy and concern stirred behind that stony visage.

"My apologies for not visiting you before now," Urthblood intoned in his deep, rumbling voice. Although he kept his voice to what was for him a conversational level, it still travelled across the chamber so that anybeast paying attention could clearly hear his words. "Other matters have demanded my presence in the aftermath of yesterday's terrible events, and even now I can tarry here but a short while. But you deserve my long overdue attention, especially Bandon, and I will do my best to inform you of the current state of affairs and answer any questions you have."

Looking towards Mykola, Urthblood asked how the fox was doing. "Pretty well," Mykola answered. "It's just a surface wound, if an extensive one. I hope to be up and about in good time."

"You acquitted yourself well in yesterday's battle," the badger complimented, "and you deserve both my gratitude and a time of rest. I've been told you managed to put down two hares?"

Mykola didn't respond at first, unsure what to say. At the mention of his battlefield performance, the hares in the infirmary turned their eyes and ears his way. Realizing there was no way to deny his own actions, he simply answered as softly as he could, "Y-yes sir, I did."

The Long Patrol hares scowled, gazes turning cold at Mykola's admission of taking out two of their friends. Bandon snorted at their reaction, which struck him as just plain childish. How many of Mykola's friends, swordfoxes and otherwise, hadn't _they_ slain? Couldn't Lord Urthblood's soldiers being treated here name plenty of comrades that the hares had killed without hesitation or mercy? That was the way of battle; what on earth had these hares expected Mykola to do?

Urthblood paid them no heed, however. "When I first took you into my service seasons ago, some of my swordfoxes expressed skepticism that you could ever earn a place in their brigade, hampered by your shorter leg. But I saw the potential in you to overcome your handicap, and you've proven your worthiness to me many times since, yesterday most of all, against the most formidable foe we have ever faced. More than anything else, I want to thank you for discharging your duties to the fullest, under the most demanding of circumstances."

"Er, yes, I… really appreciate that," the swordfox stuttered, clearly uneasy with being praised for something many of his comrades had accomplished as well. The accusing looks the Long Patrol continued to cast at him didn't help matters any.

Perhaps sensing his discomfort, the badger moved on. Motioning to Andrus at his side, he said, "I also wanted to inform you that, in light of the tragic loss of Machus, I've promoted Andrus to the rank of Sword. He will now be the new chief and captain of your brigade."

Looking at his new brigade leader, Mykola felt a streak of sadness pass over his face at being reminded anew of death of his revered commander. In the bed beside his, Bandon noticed for the first time that Andrus wore the slain Sword's blade at his waist, the brilliant weapon that had been forged for Machus by Urthblood as the finest gift ever bestowed upon one of the badger's warriors. The stoat still remembered the surprise everybeast had shown at the gates of Redwall when it was revealed that the Abbey's fabled sword of Martin looked almost identical to it… and how long ago and relatively idyllic that time seemed in comparison to everything that had recently transpired.

Gathering himself, Mykola gave as proper a salute from his reclined position as he could. "My congratulations, Andrus. May your service be as long and successful as that of Machus."

Andrus sighed and looked down in response. "Thank you, Mykola. But to be honest, I strongly doubt I will ever be able to truly follow in his pawsteps, or be as good a Sword as he was. There will only ever be one Machus, and his loss pains me to my very heart…"

"His loss pains us all," Urthblood agreed, and Bandon would be damned if he didn't detect an undercurrent of genuine bereavement to the badger's voice! "It will be far more difficult to unite these lands against the coming darkness without him by my side. I wouldn't be alive now if not for his selfless sacrifice. But do not sell yourself short, Andrus. You have served under me for nearly as long as Machus, and always with distinction and honour. I am confident that you will prove a worthy successor to him, and that you will do his legacy justice."

Andrus gave a short but grateful bow of acknowledgement to his master. Turning to the others, Urthblood continued: "This past night I've prepared his body for a proper burial, and had the moles dig out a special grave for him to honour his bravery. Tomorrow he will be interred for his final rest. Do you think you'll be able join us for the ceremony, Mykola?"

The lame fox frantically nodded. "Of course! I could never miss my Sword's funeral! I can still walk, and stand, and as long as I don't overly strain myself, I should have no problem attending."

"Splendid," Andrus said. "We will want all our foxes gathered for such an important moment."

Bandon didn't notice it this time, but the Long Patrol hares listening showed the first signs of being affected by the grief and respect afforded Machus here. Even through their anger and resentment toward the beast they considered to have treacherously stabbed Urthfist and caused his death, they could not help but be moved and surprised at just how much these beasts, vermin and foxes, truly cared about their late commander. That the creatures Urthfist had summarily dismissed as the vilest of scum, as a blot on the lands deserving only eradication, would mourn over their own like this, and would display such obvious bonds of friendship and share each others' emotional burdens, was truly unexpected. They were still enemies, still vermin and they and their master had to be opposed, of that there was no doubt… but maybe there was more to these beasts than met the eye.

Urthblood turned his gaze to the one-legged stoat captain lying on the bed alongside Mykola's, locking eyes with Bandon. The prescient Badger Lord's cold, penetrating gaze seemed to lay bare all the stoat's thoughts and insecurities.

"As for you, Bandon, it seems we now share similar physical shortcomings as a result of this tragic battle." To underscore his point, he held up his own metal-encased stump, his paw having been severed at the wrist.

Bandon didn't really know how to respond. "I… I wouldn't presume t' compare m'self to ye in any way, M'Lord," was all he could muster.

"There's no need for such humility," Urthblood assured him. "I was told by Sappakit that your spirits have been quite low ever since finding out about your severed footpaw. Is that true?"

Gathering his thoughts at last, the stoat could only sigh. "Aye, that's true, M'Lord. I've gotten some much 'preciated support from Mikky here -" he gave a grateful nod to the fox, "- an' from th' mole who brought me my meal. But, truth be told, I have felt very much dis'eartened since I woke from th' battle."

"Once again, I must apologize for not coming to visit you earlier, after you'd first awoken. You were fortunate to have other sympathetic beasts to help comfort and support you. Now, given the dedication you've always shown as my captain, may I presume your main worry is over your future in this army?"

Bandon nodded silently, dreading what Urthblood would almost surely say next but anxious to hear it anyway.

"Then I regret that I can offer you no reprieve in that regard. You have been with me long enough to know what your situation warrants." _Here it comes…_ "Captain Bandon, due to the limiting nature of your injuries, you can no longer hold a place in my army. In accordance with the oath you swore to me when you were promoted to your current rank, I must now grant you an honourable discharge, and retire you from active service, with full distinction."

And so it was done. He was no longer a captain, or a soldier. He'd expected it, of course, and the support of Ansgar and Mykola had helped prepare him for this blow, but to hear it finally proclaimed in his badger master's stentorian voice still shook him. It felt strange; while it was somewhat terrifying to know that he had finally crossed the line into being a civilian, it also gave him a sense of peace and acceptance that this part of his ordeal was finally over with. Sometimes not knowing was the hardest thing of all.

He looked up at Urthblood. Even if Bandon was no longer the badger's soldier, Urthblood was still his Lord. That would never change. Bandon almost felt like he was back by the lake in the Northlands all those seasons ago, when he had been appointed captain in the first place – somehow this situation carried a similar weight to it. Mirror events: the ultimate promotion, followed now by the ultimate demotion of outright dismissal. As he had tried to do then, he did his best to maintain a proper officer's composure, even though that wasn't strictly necessary now that he didn't technically serve under the badger anymore.

"I understand, sir." Hearkening back to that day, he tried to tone down his normal accent to make his speech more properly formal. "I know I'm no longer fit t' serve in the state I'm in. I accept this discharge unreservedly, albeit with a heavy heart, knowin' I can't be of anymore use to you."

Mattoon shared a look of empathy with the stoat. The weasel captain understood just how difficult this must be for his compatriot; if he had been in the same position as Bandon, he would've felt much the same.

"I'm glad that you're able to accept my decision," Urthblood went on, "however it might trouble you. But let me assure you that it is indeed an _honourable_ discharge, Bandon. You have served me well ever since you first joined up with my forces. You have done everything your captain's oath required of you, and more besides. You deserve to be rewarded for your devotion, and I will make sure you are well-taken care of after you return to the Northlands. And if you should seek something more than retiring to a life of peace and quiet, I may be able to arrange matters so that you might continue to serve me in some capacity, even if it is not on the battlefield commanding my troops."

Bandon listened with interest to what the badger had to say about his future.

"Near the coast, close to the border between Mossflower and the Northlands, lies a settlement called River's End. It is a relatively large community for a region only recently tamed, the landscape is fairly idyllic, and the residents are fiercely loyal to my standards and the ideals for which we fight. Former officers of this army are welcome there, and they'll gladly take you in and provide for your needs. Also, new recruits are occasionally sent there for training, and our sergeants will be glad to have a competent veteran such as yourself on paw so they may avail themselves of your experience and expertise. Having a wooden leg should not prove any great impediment in holding such a position. Otherwise, there are plenty of craftsbeasts in the village who can teach you new skills to which you can devote yourself."

Yes, that did sound similar to what Mykola had described the night before. Again, it wasn't what he'd ever pictured himself doing, or what he would have preferred to do with his life now that he'd served for so many seasons as an honorable military beast, but it wasn't too bad a future either. He could live with that. If he had to.

"I'm truly grateful, M'Lord," he said, bowing his head slightly to the badger. "When I found out 'bout my severed paw, I was worried I'd face a life as an impoverished beggar. I realize now how utterly foolish t'was of me to think you'd ever abandon me like that."

"You can be forgiven such thoughts in the initial misery of discovering your loss. But I see to the welfare of my captains, past and present, and would never just leave one such as you to fend for yourself as a reward for your seasons of loyalty to me. Let this be a lesson to everybeast present not to doubt me again."

Bandon assumed this was meant to be comforting, but somehow the badger's last statement came out more like a foreboding command than anything else. Urthblood had a tendency to do that, where one could never be quite sure exactly what tone he was trying to convey – though it was always best take his words seriously. In any case, Bandon did feel appropriately abashed over voicing such doubts aloud, and decided to steer the conversation toward something else he'd been wondering about.

"I won't, sir. Um, if I may ask, 'owever… who's gonna lead the remainin' vermin?"

"A question to which I have already given considerable thought," Urthblood responded. "As you know, aside from yourself and Broggen from the mouse brigade, Tavish is the only surviving stoat from the battle. I'm going to assign him, along with the sole remaining ferret Brann, to the weasel brigade once he's physically and emotionally recovered. And since most of Cermak and Lorsch's own lieutenants were slain, it made sense to place the surviving rats under Mattoon's command as well. This means that for now, Mattoon is the leader of all the vermin at Salamandastron, and will likely remain so until and unless I send for reinforcements from the Northlands."

"I see." Bandon acknowledged his friend with a respectful nod. "Mattoon's a fine commander. They're fortunate t' have 'im as their new leader."

The weasel gave him an appreciative smiled. "Glad t' hear you say so, Bandon matey. But I feel rather like Andrus right now – unsure whether I'll be able t' lead all these poor beasts who've lost so many o' their friends. I know I c'n never be a true replacement fer Perret, or Lorsch or Cermak… or fer you."

Bandon smiled in return. "Well, unless Tavish an' Brann're each appointed captain of their own one-beast platoon, there really ain't any other options fer them." He looked back at Urthblood. "That reminds me, M'Lord – now that Jans is dead 'n' Broggen's no longer shackled by that chain, will he rejoin th' stoat brigade?"

"That remains to be seen," the badger replied. "The loss of the mouse who went against my death verdict, and saved him from drowning in that bog all those seasons ago, has affected him deeply, much as the loss of your footpaw has affected you, Bandon. I suspect he may elect not to remain in this army – and if he should come to me and request a discharge from my forces, I think I will grant it as a special favour. That beast just doesn't have much fighting spirit left in him, after everything that's happened."

"Two of the three remaining stoats, discharged?" Mykola put in. "You think you can spare Broggen, sir?"

"It will depend on what transpires in the coming days, but while I will need a considerable force to defend Salamandastron against the searat threat in the future, I deem that I can let two soldiers go when circumstances allow."

Urthblood stood back for his parting words to Bandon and Mykola. "I must leave now to lay my brother to rest. I've decided he deserves to be buried in the very heart of Salamandastron, in the throne room that once contained the bones of Lord Brocktree himself, and where I first wrote my prophecy twenty seasons ago."

That surprised everybeast. The hares in the infirmary were particularly stunned to hear that the enemy badger had decided to honour his fallen sibling in such a manner.

"That's… quite something," was all Mykola could say.

"Normally only Badger Lords may enter the throne room, but I am making an exception on this occasion. I will be accompanied by Traveller, to represent the Long Patrol, and Winokur and Alexander, to represent Redwall. Of my own captains, Saybrook and Mattoon will help me carry my brother's body into the place of his final rest. That chamber is a sacred one, and I will allow only as many beasts to partake in this ceremony as I must."

Mykola nodded in understanding; Urthblood had not come right out and said that their injuries were the reason they were being excluded from Urthfist's funeral, but his meaning was implied. Of course, if not even Andrus was to be participating in the ceremony, Mykola had no reasonable right to expect that he might have been considered for this duty over his new Sword, even if he'd been in full health.

For Bandon, however, it was an entirely different matter. Unlike Mykola, he'd been a captain before the battle, with an entire brigade under his command and a standing comparable to Mattoon's and Saybrook's. Although, to be honest with himself, he really had no desire to pay any respects whatsoever to the beast who'd robbed him of his footpaw and his captaincy and killed so many of his friends. And there were other current captains - Abellon of the mice, Tillamook of the hedgehogs, and Andrus as well - who'd be left out of this ceremony, which lessened the sting of Bandon's own exclusion. The captains Urthblood had chosen, along with the Long Patrol hare and the otter and squirrel from Redwall, would be more than sufficient to send the mad badger off to Dark Forest - or perhaps Hellgates, which is where the crippled stoat really wished Urthfist would end up.

Turning to Bandon a final time, Urthblood concluded, "Continue to rest now. I will return later to discuss the options for your future in more detail. In half a season, after your leg has properly healed, I will have one of the craftsbeasts who survived the battle fashion a new leg specifically fitted for you. You will learn how to walk with it, and then we shall see how it goes from there."

Bandon and Mykola gave their Lord the proper salutes, and Mattoon shared one last compassionate look with the stoat, before Urthblood and his entourage left the sickbay.

After they were gone, the swordfox turned to the newly discharged stoat captain with an encouraging look. "See? I told you this would turn out fine."

The story wasn't over yet, so there was no way to be sure of that. But given how he had feared things might go, Bandon had to admit that… yes, they might actually turn out that way.

* * *

_Alright, this time I'm a little late, sadly, posting this chapter two weeks after the last one. Keep in mind that for the first few chapters, I had a bit of a backlog, but now I have to post the chapters as I write them. I'm afraid I might not be able to get a chapter done and edited every weekend. But I'll still try my best and hope that you find it worth it. _

_For this chapter, I want to give a huge thank you to Killy, for helping me with the descriptions of how a limb looks and is treated after amputation. Her insight and expertise in these matters proved invaluable in making the beginning of this scene more realistic and believable. Above anything else, thank you so much for your help, Killy!_

_This is where I properly introduce Bloodface himself in the story – I don't think he will feature much after this scene. I was a little unsure over how I'd written him, but Wing helped me to smooth things out. After all, when you're dealing with the central character of the Urthblood Saga, you'd better treat him with respect!_

_Having Mattoon in this scene helped me explain a plot point from TSW to readers – namely why no new vermin captains were appointed after the battle and how Mattoon is really the general "vermin commander" at the mountain. _

_As you might've noticed, River's End is the village from my story "Waiting for the Worms" where they bring the liberated slaves. It doesn't have any real significance though – it was mostly convenient as a place for me to send off our one-legged stoat to. _


	5. Chapter 5

As the day dragged on into the early hours of the evening, Bandon's mood drifted from forlornness over his recent fortunes to a restless impatience at being confined to bed. Now that he'd received his discharge at last, and all that remained was to prepare for whatever future awaited him, he felt his deeply-ingrained warrior's desire for activity and movement come upon him again. To instead be restricted to the infirmary, where the most interesting activities were the routine comings and goings of the healers and the rare visitor, annoyed him greatly.

He was of course hampered by his missing footpaw. Every time he had to go to the lavatory - the only reason he was allowed to leave his bed at all - one of the foxes had to support him as he hobbled along on his remaining leg. It was embarrassing. Sappakit had assured him that once his wound was more fully healed, he'd be given crutches so he could get around on his own, but until then he had to continue resting and avoid straining himself unnecessarily. He itched for something to do, and there seemed to be nothing he could do.

At least Mykola remained in the adjacent bed, giving him somebeast to talk to. The convalescent swordfox enjoyed more mobility than Bandon, but was still under orders to remain in bed most of the time. Some of the soldiers had donated playing cards to the patients in the sickbay, and Bandon had managed to get ahold of a deck which he used to teach the short-legged fox a couple of games he knew. Mykola turned out to be absolutely hopeless at cards, and Bandon won every round that they played, but neither minded; it was just a fun way to spend the time.

But after awhile, the fox had to lean back and take a nap, leaving Bandon once again to occupy himself. As the stoat lay there, with Mykola snoring softly to his left, he realized he had never valued the companionship of other beasts as much as he had these last two days.

Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long for new company. Ansgar entered the chamber for the first time since bringing Bandon his breakfast that morning. The mole looked rather tired and unkempt, much as when he'd first come upon the stoat after his initial battlefield duties, but was fortunately in a much better mood this time. He made straight for Bandon's bed, greeting the stoat with a friendly grin.

"Ansgar, matey!" the stoat hailed him, "Am I glad t' see ye!"

"Oi reckerned ee'd be. Oi wudd've been doawn 'ere afore noaw, but uz molers were doin' moar work outsoide on ee slopes."

"Oh? More burial duties?"

"Hurr, you'm cudd say that," the mole answered, memories of the grisly aftermath of the battle obviously still haunting him. "Lord Urthblood told uz t' dig ee grave furr Machus roight in ee 'xact spot wurr ee fell savin' 'is Lordship. Et wurr out on ee suthern mount'n slope - naught but solid rock, no urth or loose soil anywhurrs abowt. But Urthblood said t' make ee grave roight thurr, so thurr uz dug et, boi okey. 'ad t' use 'ammer 'n' chisel t' chip out an 'ole ee roight soize. Worked all ee day, an' bain't but 'alf finershed, no zurr."

Bandon nodded. "If anybeast deserves the honour of a grave hewn directly from th' mountainside, it's Machus."

"Aye, an' et's a roight 'onor t' be diggen et furr 'im," Ansgar agreed. "But gurtly tirin' too. Uz be workin' in shifts, an' moine's dunn noaw furr ee day. On ee morrow, oi'll arsk if'n oi c'n work on carven out ee 'eadstones furr ee graves instead. Oi loiks worken outsoide, but thinken on all ee bodies uz 'adta clean oop bain't easy furr oi, no zurr. 'soides, oi'd loike t' be ee moler 'oo carves Emyr's 'eadstone furr 'im…"

Ansgar settled himself down on the floor alongside the bed, as he'd done when they'd first met. Bandon put his paw on the mole's shoulder. "Aye, I wager 'is spirit will 'preciate that, Ansgar."

The mole looked up at him gratefully. "Thankee, gudd zurr. But furr ee rest of ee day, oi'm free t' stay roight yurr. If'n et's all roight with ee?"

"O' course, o' course! I'm tired of havin' t' lie in bed all day, and th' company of other beasts is th' only thing keepin' me sane."

"'ow be yurr leg?"

Bandon moved his stump around a bit to get a feel for it. "It's a strange thing, but… when I lie back an' don't look at it, it feels as if I 'aven't lost it at all…"

"Aye, oi've aheard o' that 'appenin' sometoimes, when a creaturr loses a limb, feelin' loik et still be thurr."

Bandon turned slightly more glum. "Also got my discharge from Lord Urthblood 'imself earlier t'day, so it's official. I'm no longer part o' this army."

"Hurr, an'ow'd that make ee feel?" Ansgar asked with concern.

"Well…" Bandon thought about it. "It is sad, no doubt about it. I do miss me ol' life already. But at th' same time… I'm kinda glad it's finally over. I c'n focus now on gettin' back inta shape an' preparin' fer what's t' come, without frettin' over what'll happen t' me. Lord Urthblood's made arrangements fer me t' go back to a nice place in th' North called River's End – a place that'll take me in an' where I can live in peace an' relative plenty. I might even be able t' train some new recruits, just like Mikky thought. Just like you thought too..." He smiled at the mole.

Ansgar blushed. "Aw, thankee, but et wurr Mikky 'oo assurred ee o' that. Oi wurr too busy moanin' o'er moi own misfortchens, burr hurr."

"That makes two of us that night," Bandon sniggered.

Grinning back at him, the mole then said, "Hurr, if'n ee want 'elp preparen furr ee journee an' loife outsoide ee army, oi'll serpintly be yurr furr ought ee need, jus' loik oi promersed."

The stoat nodded in gratitude, and Ansgar went on, "Noaw oi'm 'ere, be thurr ought special you'm a-wanted t' talk 'bout, gudd zurr?"

"Um… not really. Do ye have anything ye wanted to talk 'bout?"

"Burr hurr, if'n ee wuddn't moind, oi'd fancy 'earin' a yarn frum one o' yurr cap'n's days, Bandon – a gudd wurrier's tale, if may be. Summat made ee proud t' serve in ee army, or won ee glory an' respect?"

Now _that_ was a conversation worth having. Bandon harbored no qualms about reliving his warrior days with Ansgar; in fact, he had so many fond memories and glorious moments to choose from that it was difficult to single out any one in particular. After some moments' thought, however, Bandon settled upon one he deemed ought to satisfy the mole's interest. "Know anything 'bout th' Wildcat Wars?"

Ansgar's little eyes lit up at his words. "Burr aye! Oi wurr scarce more'n a molebabe durin' et toime, an' moi 'ome village wurr gurtly lucky t' be spared ee wurst o' ee turmult 'n' stroife, but oi still 'members et loike t'was yesterday. Seemed ee entoire Northlands wurr very near undone boi et."

"They very nearly were," Bandon agreed. "Those wildcats were th' toughest opponent Lord Urthblood e'er faced. But in th' end, he triumphed, like he allers does…"

* * *

"_Stoats, rally ta me!"_

_Bandon shouted his rallying cry, straining to be heard over the racket of the battle going on all around them. Having succeeded in slaying or driving back the wildcats they'd engaged in this spot of the valley, the stoat brigade coalesced around their captain. Getting their bearings, Bandon's force charged forward up across the valley, making for the gulch formed between the two large hills where the last of King Meradoc's allied wildcat clans had chosen to make their final stand. The stoats' spirits sang with the rush of battle, and their hearts brimmed with hope and determination. Finally, after nearly three seasons of violent skirmishes, ambushes, struggles and huge loss of life, it was time to end this. _

_It had all started when the wildcat Meradoc had landed his clans on the eastern shores of the Northlands. They had come from some land across the Eastern Sea; where exactly, or why they had left it, remained a mystery. They had numbered in the hundreds – not just the adult male warriors, but their families: females, kittens and elderly. They had crossed the seas in large, ramshackle vessels, making it obvious that they were no proper seafaring beasts but had simply cobbled together a makeshift fleet to deliver them to their new home. It was as if an entire culture had packed up everything they had to make a risky journey to parts unknown. _

_And they had come to conquer. Their arrival completely upset the balance of power in the region. The first beasts they confronted, after a fortnight of scouting, were the Northlands' own native wildcats. The newcomers seemed to speak the same language, albeit with a strange accent, and they convinced many of the local feline communities to ally with them, either through promises of power and glory or with dire threats if these overtures were spurned. Most chose to join them, for one reason or the other, and soon the foreign horde's numbers swelled to almost double. _

_Then they descended on the rest of the Northlands. Communities and settlements were reduced to rubble in their wake, the inhabitants enslaved or sometimes killed to the last beast. The more fortunate ones got away with paying tribute to the feline invaders. Soon the wildcat clans - both Meradoc's instigators from across the sea and the natives pressured into joining them - became the terror of the North, a seemingly unstoppable horde that destroyed or occupied everything in their path. _

_But Urthblood and his vast forces would not leave Meradoc unopposed to spread death and tyranny across the lands the badger had worked so hard to pacify and liberate from slavers and petty warlords. Once news reached them of this new menace threatening the lands, they gathered themselves and all the allies they could muster to meet the feline hordes head-on and make them pay for their barbarity... _

_The stoat brigade kept jogging up the slope, the wildcat foe strategically massed uphill where they had the advantage of higher ground. But the felines here were heavily outnumbered; nearly a thousand of Urthblood's warriors had been deployed to fight against scarcely tenscore of the cats. Meradoc's followers had the mountains at their back, and the might of the greatest fighting force the Northlands had ever seen surrounding them. Not one of them would live to see sunset, and they all knew it… and so they were determined to go down like true warriors, to do battle with their foes one last time and take as many of Urthblood's soldiers with them as possible. And from how things were going, it seemed they would be bringing quite a few with them to Dark Forest. _

_The felines, having first met the Badger Lord's forces in battle two seasons earlier, quickly proved themselves no petty band of brigands or would-be warlords who'd be quickly subdued like most other foes Urthblood had put down during his campaigns so far. They were formidable fighters, as skilled as any of the badger's forces, large and physically powerful. After the first few engagements, it became painfully clear that this conflict would not be over in a pawful of skirmishes. This was all-out war, and it would take a large toll in blood to see it through to the end. _

_Bandon and his charging troops came upon a squad of mice fighting fiercely against half a dozen of the felines. Or a squad of mice and a stoat, to be exact – in the midst of the melee they spotted none other than the chained duo of Jans and Broggen, the beret-wearing mouse-stoat team displaying their skill at arms and their ability to work as one despite the chain keeping them forever within half a step of each other. The cats must have dismissed them as an easy, and quite ridiculous-looking, target until they'd run through the first feline who'd lunged at them with his blade raised. Now the cats regarded the pair with due wariness, trying to steer clear of the two of them while sparring with the mice surrounding them. _

_But it was clear that even Jans and Broggen had their paws full with opponents of such strength and skill as the wildcats, and that was with their entire squad of mice helping them. Bandon counted but two feline corpses lying in the grass, while at least thrice that number of mice lay among them. As he rushed forward with his stoats, one of the cats beheaded a mouse with a long curved blade while a second rodent fell impaled by a sword thrust. Despite being outnumbered, it looked as if Meradoc's fighters might actually win this particular skirmish. _

_That was before the stoat brigade entered the fray, however. The cats saw the threescore warriors bearing down on them, and for a moment indecision flashed in their eyes, as if debating disengagement and flight. But either they realized the futility of any such strategy, or they simply considered it cowardly, and so they hardened themselves for their final moments and lashed out at the mice with even greater fervour. _

_The stoats roared into the clash with a battlecry, their swords and spears slicing and stabbing at their foes, who frantically strove to prolong their doomed lives for however many precious moments they could. Bandon ducked underneath a blade aimed at his head, which instead cut through the throat of the stoat behind him, and thrust his into the belly of the attacking cat. Pulling it out again and letting his slain foe topple to the ground, he called out the mouse-stoat duo, "How ya doin' over there?"_

"_What took ya longnecks so long?" Jans shouted back, a relieved smile on his face even as he and Broggen duelled with a feline opponent. "Now ye're here, let's show these mangy kittens how true Northlands warriors fight!"_

_Bandon questioned the militant mouse's sentiments somewhat, now that there were over seventy of Urthblood's fighters squared off against just five of those remaining "kittens," but at the moment he was too grateful that his squad had arrived in time to think on the matter more deeply. He simply battled on as his training and experience proscribed, as did his fellow stoats, and soon the last of the felines went down with a javelin through its back. _

_One thing that Bandon - and all the other fighters who served under Urthblood, for that matter - had to grant the wildcats was that they displayed incredibly bravery. No matter how numerous or powerful their foes, Meradoc's forces would engage in battle without hesitation, and would retreat only as an absolute last resort. Sometimes they would fight to the very last cat, refusing to surrender; Urthblood's army had taken precious few captives among them, and most of those were native Northlands felines who had yet to accept their foreign master's code of honour. For all their ruthlessness, and the atrocities they'd inflicted upon the creatures of the lands, they were nevertheless great warriors: powerful, skilled, fearless and utterly dedicated to their cause, ferocious fighters who never gave nor asked for quarter. Not that the Northlands warriors were likely to grant them any…_

_The war had been long, bloody and merciless, just as Urthblood's soldiers expected. Aside from their prowess as warriors, Meradoc and his chieftains had proven surprisingly adept strategists as well. They effectively dispatched scouts and spies to map out the movements and positions of the badger's forces, avoided committing all of their own assets to any single engagement, availed themselves of the terrain to fight battles on their own terms, and deployed each clan according to its specific strengths. Despite being outnumbered several times over by the armies of Urthblood, they held their own quite well, and even managed to inflict a number of defeats on the Northlanders. _

_The most shattering of these defeats provided a strong secondary incentive to the badger's warriors now. Three brigades - one of mice, one of shrews and a stoat brigade led by Bandon's senior co-captain Callahan - had been sent for by Urthblood in an earlier battle to reinforce the northern flank against Meradoc's wildcats. The felines had somehow learned of the route these reinforcements would take, and set up an ambush as the brigades made their way through the treacherous pass of the North Hills. They'd descended on the Northlanders from all directions, and wiped them out to the last beast. The North Hills massacre stood as the single most costly defeat Urthblood had ever suffered, with nearly three hundred of his beasts dying that day. Bandon had lost a close friend and mentor in Callahan, and he was now determined to make the cats pay in blood for him, his stoats and all his fellow soldiers who'd died that day, and ever since the war began. _

_With the last of their immediate foe slain, the mice and stoats moved on to where the heart of the battle still raged. Some of them were wounded, including one stoat who'd had his sword arm severed halfway to the elbow. Bandon ordered two of his soldiers who were moderately skilled at healing to remain behind and take care of the injured while the rest left to engage their enemies. _

_In the end, however, after two seasons of slowly outwitting and outfighting their foes, whittling down their warriors and clans, Urthblood's forces had finally reduced Meradoc's horde to the two hundred warriors they faced here today. The cats had been put on the retreat, regrouping as more and more of their fighters were slain, until they knew that everything was lost and their grand bid to conquer these new lands had failed. Gathering his remaining warriors around him, Meradoc had retreated to these highlands to make his final stand. The Northlanders had taken him up on the offer, and now they were about to vanquish this most formidable foe once and for all. _

_Bandon and his companions soon reached the fringes of this final battle. The wildcats held the center of a rocky plateau, desperately striving to hold back the waves of hedgehogs, rats, mice, otters and weasels constantly charging towards them. Even as the Northlanders had them completely surrounded, Bandon could see that several of his smaller comrades were clearly nervous at the prospect of engaging the large, fearsome wildcats, armoured in studded leather and armed to the teeth with large axes, cutlasses and halberds. Before he even managed to reach them, he saw several hedgehogs with the tips of feline swords sticking out through the spikes on their backs, the heads of rats falling to ground, and an otter toppling over, screaming as the sudden sweep of a poled blade robbed him of his arm up to the shoulder. _

_Yes, the cats were indeed fearsome opponents. But they wouldn't last much longer against the overwhelming might of the crimson badger's dedicated followers. The stoats finally found an opening to engage their larger foes, further straining the feline flanks to the point that they would inevitably crumble, allowing this menace to be wiped from the face of the lands. Bandon fought alongside his fellow stoats, parrying and ducking the wildcat's weapons, and succeeded in killing two of them, although he did come dangerously close to losing his own life several times as their blades wheezed past him and even sliced off the tips of his right whiskers at one point. But he would not die this day – not when they were finally achieving victory against such a terrible foe. He'd probably die being struck in the back of the head with a rock during a routine pacification of a robber band…_

_In the center of the fighting, ringed by his most loyal followers, stood Meradoc himself. He truly was a fearsome sight – tall and muscular, his grey fur riddled with scars and a few fresh bleeding cuts, his hard-edged face twisted into a bloodthirsty snarl and his ears pierced with golden rings and a white fang. His leather armour had been dyed black, his thick arms emblazoned with tattoos, and he wielded a cutlass in one paw and a battle axe in the other. He swung his weapons in deadly arcs all around him, his otter opponents desperately trying to stave off his assault and that of his guards, several of their squad lying slain on the ground already. Here truly was a creature fit to lead a savage, terrifying horde, his whole image exuding the brutality, ruthlessness, savage bravery and fanaticism that made the wildcat clans what they were. _

_But Meradoc was about to meet his match. Glancing to his left in a brief lull in the fighting, Bandon saw Urthblood himself marching up the slope, the mighty, crimson-armoured badger making short work of any cat standing in his way. All his Northlanders who noticed him were fired up by his presence and pressed the battle more ferociously than ever, while the cats trembled as they saw him dispatching their comrades who'd instilled so much terror in their lesser foes. And Urthblood made his inexorable way straight up towards the wildcat king…_

_The fighting immediately surrounding the two combatants subsided to a standstill. The otters parted to let their badger master personally engage the greatest opponent he'd ever faced. For the first time, fear colored Meradoc's face. His wildcat soldiers tensed, prepared to defend their king to the death, but he motioned for them to step back. This was to be between him and Urthblood alone. _

_Readying himself for their fateful clash, Meradoc raised his weapons, and Urthblood followed suit as soon as they drew within striking distance of one another. Meradoc truly was large, barely half a head shorter than Urthblood, his muscular bulk nearly rivaling that of the badger. _

_Then they met. Urthblood brought his mighty sword down against his foe's cutlass with a deafening clang as he parried a blow from Meradoc's axe with his heavy, pitted shield, and soon Badger Lord and Wildcat King were locked in a struggle from which only one could possible emerge alive. _

_Bandon had to admit that Meradoc acquitted himself very well; he actually managed to endure scores of blows and parries from the avatar of war that was Urthblood. The wildcat wielded his sword and axe with expert skill, and even managed to sneak in blows past the badger's blade and shield a few times, mostly against Urthblood's red armour, but one fortuitous swing scored a shallow slash across his badger adversary's cheek, adding another scar to Urthblood's already sizable collection. _

_But in the end, there was no question which beast would emerge victorious. Urthblood barely flinched as the gash was cut less than an inch from his right eye, but Meradoc visibly shook every time the badger's sword smashed down upon his own weapons, his body trembling with the sheer force the badger unleashed with each strike. Large and powerful though he was, Meradoc simply couldn't compete with Urthblood's massive strength, unflagging stamina or the Salamandastronian sword skills the badger had been practicing since long before he left his home mountain… nor with the power of destiny that guided Urthblood's paw. In the long run, the wildcat would lose, and he knew it – he simply did what the rest of his army was doing: giving his all for one last fight, determined to end his final day in a manner befitting a warrior. _

_Finally, as it became clear the feline warlord's strength had at last failed him, Urthblood brought his sword down on his opponent's right arm as Meradoc raised it to block the swing. The severed limb, still clutching the cutlass, fell to the ground in a spray of blood. For a moment, the wildcat didn't even react, simply staring at his wound. Then he gave a roar and raised his remaining arm in a futile attempt to bring his axe down on the badger, but Urthblood easily blocked it, and smashed the edge of his shield savagely into the side of the feline's face, a blow that would have killed almost any other creature. Meradoc went sprawling, spitting blood and teeth from his broken face. After awhile, he managed to raise himself to his knees, bleeding stump clutched in his remaining paw while more blood leaked from his mouth. He looked up at the badger, who responded by locking his own gaze with that of his defeated foe. _

_Bandon may have imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw something pass between the two adversaries at that moment. Some unspoken understanding, and maybe even acknowledgement of mutual respect between them. Bandon couldn't remember Urthblood ever favoring an enemy with such a look. But then, Meradoc and his felines had been unlike any enemy they'd ever faced. _

_And then the moment passed. Urthblood drew back his sword, Meradoc making no move to block it. The badger thrust it forward, driving it straight through the leather breastplate to pierce the wildcat king's heart and severe his spine in the same move. Withdrawing the sword, he impassively stood and watched Meradoc crumple into a heap, never to rise again. _

_A deathly silence fell over the scene, even the most remote pockets of fighting having gone quiet to witness the duel between badger and wildcat. The felines shuddered as they saw their revered leader lying broken and lifeless upon the ground, for he had meant almost as much to them as Urthblood did to his Northland followers. Now the crimson badger stood triumphant over the corpse of their very cause and purpose, Meradoc's blood staining his sword and shield. _

_Then a great cheer arose from the Northlanders, and they turned on the surviving wildcats, determined to finish off the last of their doomed enemies. The felines fought on in turn, knowing that their cause was lost and their death was certain. Nothing remained to them except their warrior's determination to make their last moments on this earth count for something, and to make their ancestors proud of receiving them in the halls of the dead. _

_As Bandon resumed fighting, emulating his badger master by piercing the heart of an axe-wielding cat before his foe had time to react, he couldn't help but reflect that Meradoc was probably the most formidable opponent Urthblood would ever have to face. Never again would the Badger Lord duel with somebeast his equal, nor would anybeast manage to best him. From here on, Lord Urthblood would stand as the uncontested ruler of the North, and it was only a matter of time before his influence would spread to Mossflower and even beyond, until all the lands were united under his standard…_

* * *

"…Maybe that were a liddle optimistic," Bandon admitted as he finished relating his tale to the enraptured mole, "but th' war really was a turnin' point fer Urthblood. Y' see, 'fore th' wildcats 'rived, there were still a lot o' skepticism 'bout 'is plan t' unite woodlanders 'n' vermin, lots o' communities refusin' t' have aught t' do with 'im outta fear that anybeast placin' stoats 'n' rats 'n' foxes under arms hadta have dishonest intentions. But with Meradoc an' 'is horde ravagin' th' lands, everybeast united 'gainst 'em… well, everybeast 'cept those ungrateful Noonvalers, o' course." Bandon still soured at the thought of how, even as the North burned around them, the inhabitants of the isolationist valley settlement had refused to lift a paw to help the crimson badger's forces or anybeast else, for fear that the concerns of the wider world might actually intrude upon their precious little utopia. He sometimes wished the cats had managed to invade the valley; that might've jolted the Noonvalers out of their self-absorbed attitude.

"Anyways," he continued, "we oft fought side by side with defenders an' volunteers from th' surrounding villages an' homesteads. Even many o' the vermin gangs, who we'd probably've been fightin' elsewise, aided us 'gainst our common foe, an' then they usually joined up afterwards, without no need to defeat 'em an' have 'em swear loyalty t' us under pain o' death. So fer all its tragedies an' miseries, that war with Meradoc knit th' Northlands closer t'gether. After seein' how Lord Urthblood were able t' overcome even a menace like th' wildcats, everybeast started turnin' t' him fer protection, and more 'n' more supported 'is cause. I mean, there were still plenny o' suspicions over us vermin, an' we still hadta fight off robber bands, slaver gangs an' such, but th' North truly were a safer, more united place after that."

"Et be's quoite ee storee, boi okey," Ansgar said after taking in everything Bandon had said. "You'm be a furrly gudd yurnspinner, burr hurr. T'were loik oi wurr really thurr."

"Guess storytellin's one o' me hidden talents," the stoat said with a chuckle.

"May'aps 'tis," Ansgar agreed. "An' t'wurr gudd ee North became moar unoited boi ee war too. Summat posertive came frum them turrible toimes, at ee vury least."

"Aye," Bandon said, his gaze turning more introspective. "Fer us, leastways. Fer th' wildcats…"

He leaned back against his pillow with a sigh. "After th' war, th' survivin' wildcats were rounded up an' sent t' live at places we ordered 'em to. If they survived th' vengeful wrath of th' Northland folk their warriors had terrorized, that is. Some o' those beasts who'd allied themselves with us turned inta angry, armed mobs, descendin' on the encampments where th' wildcat families lived, sometimes killin' everybeast in it: males, females an' even th' liddle ones…"

Ansgar's face, which had previously shown delight at the telling of Bandon's rousing tale, turned sorrowful. "Aye, oi'd 'eard sum o' that 'ad 'appened…"

"Normally, them folk wouldn'ta done anything like that, I'm sure of it. But just then, after all th' terrible cruelties done to 'em by Meradoc, they weren't thinkin' entirely right, an' sure weren't in any mood fer showin' mercy or compassion or understandin'. They were starved fer vengeance, an' since most o' th' cat warriors had been killed, the only ones they c'd take it out on were th' non-fightin' beasts. We ne'er supported or encouraged those massacres… but we didn't do much t' prevent 'em, neither."

And those felines who'd been spared the worst of such retaliations were left reduced to a huddled, pathetic remnant of what they once where, forced to live in special reservations at the edge of the Northlands. Urthblood made a point of completely de-militarizing the wildcats so that they would never pose a threat to the lands again. He stripped them of all their weapons and let it be known that, while he had show them mercy this time, if they ever dared to rise against the creatures of the Northlands once more they would be exterminated down to the last cat.

Most tellingly, Urthblood did not take a single one of them into his forces, as he usually did with defeated enemies. Most of the able-bodied males had been killed anyway, but the hale and hearty cats who remained were forced onto the reservations along with their kin.

The reason was simple: even after their vanquishment, the cats were still despised by the Northlanders who'd suffered at their paws. And while most vermin had been similarly regarded before Urthblood began his campaigns, the Badger Lord had clearly proven that rats and weasels and foxes could be made to serve the cause of good. Meradoc's actions, by contrast, had made the felines a special case, their unforgivable brutality simply beyond the pale. If Urthblood wished to enjoy the continued goodwill of the beast of the North, it would have been untenable to keep the wildcats under arms, even if they were kept under constant supervision.

And this hatred extended even to the pawful of felines Urthblood had already had in his service. Although it was often forgotten in the aftermath of the conflict, there had been a number of wildcats, whether as communities or individuals, who'd rejected Meradoc's ultimatum and chosen to stand by the Northlanders against their invading kin. Even before Meradoc and his horde had set foot in the lands, a few cats had joined up with Urthblood's forces, but the bulk of the native felines lived further north, and the badger's influence hadn't reached those hinterlands before the invaders arrived and claimed them for their own. In any event, the cats who served under Urthblood or fought alongside his army fought with distinction and courage, even as the invaders regarded them as traitors to their species.

But after the war, they were painted with the same broad brush as the ones who'd conquered and terrorized their way through the Northlands. In spite of their contributions, Urthblood couldn't let them travel with him on his later campaigns; they were simply too unpopular. The most common use found for them was to guard the reservations to which their defeated kin had been restricted, to quell any potential uprising – which pretty much relegated them to the status of exiles every bit as much as the cats they'd fought against.

And this was why Urthblood's forces lacked a wildcat regiment. Most of the felines suited for service were dead, and the others would never again be accepted as soldiers and protectors by the creatures of the North. Urthblood had indeed entertained plans to create such a regiment once his campaigns reached the outlying feline communities, but the arrival of Meradoc changed all that. As it was, it would probably take generations before such a thing could again be considered.

That really rankled Bandon. If only those newcomers from across the sea had come in peace, if only the native wildcats had been left alone, the planned wildcat regiment could have become one of the greatest in Lord Urthblood's army, possibly rivalling his swordfox brigade or his Gawtrybe allies. Warriors of such calibre would have been greatly feared by anybeast who might have considered challenging the Badger Lord's supremacy. To instead see them reduced to this – by some accounts, nearly two thirds of all wildcats in the North, native and invaders, had died during or just after the war – was just galling. It was such a huge waste of what could have been…

He told all of this to Ansgar. Once he was finished, Bandon noticed that the mole had a rather depressed look about him.

"Er, sorry, Ansgar matey. Didn't mean t' make ye all down by tellin' ye this…"

"Burr, et's alroight, zurr," the mole responded. "T'wurr gudd ee told alla ee storee to oi. Been puzzlin' o'er ee woildcatters moiself, so et's noice 'avin' ee answers… even if'n they'm be sad answers…"

"Aye, 'tis a sad story," Bandon agreed. "Sumpthin' that never shoulda 'appened, but… sometimes things don't go th' way they should."

"Burr hurr, summ seasons past, shortly afore oi wurr part of ee Tunnel 'n' Trencher Corps, thurr wurr a woildcat cum thru moi village. Ee'd been sent frum ee resurvshuns fur sum reason, may'aps furr supplies 'n' suchloik. Ee insisted t'wurr a soldier o' Lord Urthblood's, runnen an errand 'is Lordship approved, an' ee'd fought 'gainst ee invaders durin' ee war. But uz'n still spat 'n' jeered at 'em… oi too…" he added with shame. "Reckern oi jus' didn't think et thru, loike ee did."

As Ansgar finished speaking, something struck the stoat. In all the seasons since the war ended, the fate of the wildcats had never really bothered Bandon. Sure, he'd found the whole story sad, and it had annoyed him how they were effectively barred from service. But really, it was what they deserved after everything they'd done. Most creatures of the lands would have shown far less mercy than Urthblood, had they been in any position to defeat Meradoc at all, so if anything the felines ought to be grateful for the safe haven of those impoverished reservations they'd been made to settle in, especially after the retribution they'd suffered at the paws of their former victims. And if some innocents had happened to suffer for it too – like their children – their entire race had brought that upon themselves through their actions. Such was merely the ways of war… especially wars where the stakes were so high as the one Urthblood fought.

But now, lying here after everything that had happened to him, Bandon couldn't help but see things differently. As he thought about it now, reliving all those memories, he truly did feel sorry about all that had befallen the felines – even if they'd largely brought it down upon themselves. Maybe this was how Mykola regarded things, in terms of troublesome beasts deserving more understanding than they usually got? In that case, Bandon had been wrong to dismiss the lame fox's compassion as weakness.

"Burr umm ... did anybeast e'er foind out whoi ee wildcatters cumm 'ere, 'cross ee sea?" the mole asked him.

"I dunno know, Ansgar – don't reckon we ever did. Meradoc's cats were never really forthcomin' 'bout why they left their homelands, an' we 'ad more 'portant things t' worry 'bout durin' an' after th' war t' ask inta it much. From what I've heard, th' most we got out of 'em was that t'were naught left fer 'em t' go back to, an' that we'da left fer new lands too if we'd gone through what they 'ad. T'was like they were scared even talkin' 'bout it."

The mole pondered this for some moments, then sighed. "Burr, whate'er ee truth of ee matter may be, oi hopes sumday ee woildcats of ee North'll rejoin Lord Urthblood's armee, an' uz c'n leave behoind ol' hatreds an' live t'gether loik peaceable creetures."

"Me too." Bandon looked at his new friend with encouragement. "After all, if'n there's one thing Urthblood's campaigns 'ave shown us, it's that any ol' hatred can be left behind us if we just put our minds to it."

Ansgar smiled back.

* * *

_Once again, it took two weeks to get this chapter ready. The next one will hopefully be shorter and up in just one._

_This chapter was written to address a couple of questions that have irked me, and I'm sure other readers of Highwing's Urthblood Saga, for some time: why there are apparently no wildcats serving under Urhblood, and what the Wildcat Wars, hinted at but never fully described, truly were. As such, this is my version of that conflict, and the events surrounding it. _

_What I wanted to do here was to present the wildcats as not just another typical vermin horde that was easily conquered and subdued by Urthblood, but an army of true warriors, as formidable as the badger's own forces. I also wanted them to be a bit ambiguous from a moral standpoint – they're ruthless and bloodthirsty, and committed terrible atrocities against the creatures of the lands, but they were also brave, devoted to their leader and to each other, had their own codes of honour and did much of what they did out of desperation. Making clear that not all cats of the North supported the invaders also felt like an appropriate touch. _

_If their fate – like what the Northlanders did to some of their families – seems sad, that's because it's supposed to be. The saga is full of sad and terrible events that shouldn't have happened but did anyway, because of misunderstandings, good intentions turned bad, lust for power or simple bad fortune. This is in keeping with that. But I also hope it provides a bit of hope for the future at the end. _

_It must be kept in mind, however, that while this has been cleared with Highwing – who did a marvellous editing job, as always – the canonicity of the Wildcat Wars as presented here is a bit uncertain. It all depends on whether Wing explores this part of the saga's backstory in his own future writings. But I hope it's at least a plausible version of what could've happened, and satisfies anyone who reads it. _

_I also apologize if the battle sequence felt confusing or amateurish – battles and fight scenes are not my strong suit, so I had to struggle with making it interesting and provide backstory at the same time. Hopefully, you'll find it entertaining anyway. _

_As to the question of where the wildcats came from and why they left, well, that's a mystery for another time… _


	6. Chapter 6

"Sir…"

Bandon paused as the two weasel guards in the corridor turned and favoured him with respectful nods. He returned the gesture and then trotted on his way to the kitchens.

The stoat couldn't help but smile at the deference still shown to him by the soldiery, even by creatures he'd not directly commanded. Although it was well-known by now that Bandon no longer held any official rank in this army, it seemed the infantry beasts had a hard time forgetting that he'd been the captain of the stoat brigade until recently, and continued to view him in that light. Perhaps it would have been wiser to remind the weasels they no longer needed to show him the respect due a commander, but Bandon decided to indulge himself in the lingering glamour of captainhood while he still could.

Then again, maybe it had simply been a gesture of sympathy on their part at the sight of a former captain hobbling around on crutches, the stump of his lost leg swinging beneath him. Perhaps it was simply another stinging reminder, intended or not, of the course his life had taken.

At least he was up and about at last. Three days had passed since his telling of the Wildcat Wars to Ansgar. Yesterday, Sappakit announced that it would be Bandon's final night in the infirmary. After that, the stoat would be sleeping in the regular soldier quarters, with the provision that he went back to the foxes for regular checkups. To celebrate his first night out of sickbay, Bandon was provided with two crutches, courtesy of a group of rats' daytrip to the forest and the woodworking skills of Saybrook's otters; the waterbeasts had crafted quite a few of them, for Bandon was hardy the only beast in need of such appliances. The foxes had specifically prescribed that he should be up and keep himself active, as long as he didn't exhaust himself, so that the blood would keep flowing in his left leg.

He'd gladly taken them up on that, and after being given some quick pointers on how to use his crutches properly, he'd quickly taken to stumping around on them. Sure, it wasn't as good as having two proper legs, but it was far preferable to lying around in bed all the time.

At the moment, Bandon was searching out Salamandastron's kitchens. He didn't actually have any place he needed to be; he was just so glad to be up and about, even in this limited fashion, that he'd spent a large part of this day so far ambling throughout the mountain with no particular destination in mind. He'd just recently decided to make his way to the kitchens to see if he could grab himself a treat or two and maybe find somebeast to talk with. He tried to stay away from stairs since he didn't feel confident enough yet to tackle them without assistance, and this required him to memorize specific passages and mostly stick to the same level. He felt almost like an explorer, constantly discovering new places in the ancient home of the Badger Lords!

It struck Bandon, as he traversed corridors which had been painstakingly carved out of the living rock over countless seasons, that he hadn't felt this way for a long time. Not since he'd been a little stoatbabe, exploring the world around him with awed curiosity in his earliest seasons, before his father had introduced him to the harshness of life by demanding he take up the sword to help his family get by through robbery. After that, there had been nothing but fighting, from the robber gangs of his adolescence to induction into Lord Urthblood's army, from his seasons-long rise through the ranks to his eventual promotion to captain. He truly hadn't known anything else, and the prospect of living any other way had frightened him.

But now, as he clopped around with the crutches under his arms supporting his weight on cloth-wrapped top cross braces, he couldn't help but feel a certain satisfaction. For the first time in so many seasons, there were no demands or expectations of him. Nobeast required him to be anywhere or do anything, he had no orders to relay, no inferiors to supervise, no reports to give. He could go anywhere, more or less, and do anything he pleased. He felt… free.

Of course, he would go back to being a captain in a heartbeat if he could – that was what he'd lived for and how he defined himself. But he was definitely starting to see that there were advantages to life outside the regimented rigours of Urthblood's army.

Eventually, after having been helped by a mouse guard along a flight of stairs he'd been unable to avoid, Bandon arrived at the kitchens. It was nearly noon, and Saybrook's otter squad had recently returned from their latest fishing trip laden with all the delicacies the ocean had to offer. The burly waterbeasts gladly helped the kitchen staff prepare for lunchtime.

The Salamandastron kitchens were large and spacious, having been expanded in times past when the Long Patrol numbered a thousand hares or more. While the Patrol under Urthfist had been of a more modest size, even the heavily decimated Northlands forces remaining after the battle would be served very well by all the cooking space. It might not have been quite as elaborate or well-stocked as the larders of Redwall, but they were still great kitchens by any standard.

As he entered the place, the staff - a collection of otters, moles and mice - busied themselves gathering ingredients and firing up the ovens for lunch. Aside from the woodlanders, Bandon also noticed the rat cook Gratch, who'd survived the battle by virtue of his placement near the back of the vermin lines. His limited skills had proven his good fortune in this instance; Gratch was one of the soldiers travelling with the army who, while possessing a rudimentary knowledge of fighting, had been kept on more for his cooking skills than for any military proficiency. If he'd been positioned at the front, he'd have been killed for certain… not that the more skilled rats had fared any better against Urthfist.

Standing at the entrance to the kitchen, Bandon was soon noticed by the working beasts. The stoat was happy to see Saybrook disentangle himself from his fellow otters and saunter over to greet his former co-captain personally.

"Bandon, matey! Didn't think ye'd be up an' about already."

"Well," the stoat replied, "when those foxes let me leave th' sickbay at last an' gave me these crutches, I wanted t' take advantage of it much as I could."

"Guess so," the otter noted, before looking down at Bandon's bandaged stump in sympathy. "How's it feelin'?"

"Good as it can, I s'pose, given th' circumstances. Still a bit strange, but I'm gettin' used to it."

"Guess ye will, in time." The otter shrugged, then grinned at the stoat again. "Say, would ye like a liddle somethin' 'fore lunch?"

The stoat grinned back. "Heh, ye know us vermin so well! I actshully came down here t' ask 'bout 'xactly that. I were just hoppin' 'round th' mountain to wherever struck me fancy. Figgered I could head to th' kitchens t' see if I could ply me disability fer sympathy an' win me a free meal."

"Now that I can do for ye, an' we'd be happy to indulge ye!" Saybrook winked knowingly. "Whaddya say to a bowl o' warm porridge with cinnamon 'n' apples?"

"That'd be lovely if'n ye…"

The stoat stopped in midsentence, groaning as he closed his eyes. Saybrook reached out to him in concern, and several of the nearby staff stopped what they were doing to look at him.

"Bandon, matey, what's wrong?" the otter asked with visible concern.

"N-nothin… I just needs t' sit down fer a liddle bit… please…"

Saybrook fetched a nearby stool for Bandon and took his crutches for him as the stoat sat down. Bandon grasped his left knee, slowly massaging it, eyes closed. These intermittent sensations had started a few days ago, a nagging pain in his lost leg. When they hit, it felt a bit like he had dipped his stump in ice-cold water, sending small needles into his nerves. The strange thing was, he could swear he felt those needles in his left footpaw as well, despite the fact that he no longer possessed it.

Bandon had heard about this phenomenon before, from other soldiers who'd lost limbs, and Sappakit had informed him a bit more about it when it first affected him. The cause of these phantom sensations was unknown. It could be that the mind simply tricked a beast into still thinking it had its old limb, and transferred any sensitivity from the stump into what couldn't be mentally recognized as lost. Most amputees experienced some form of these sensations, which often took the form of pain. Bandon had been assured that it was worst in the beginning, and over the next season they would lessen in intensity and frequency, but there was a possibility that he would never be completely free of them. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle, but it seemed his troubles weren't just limited to not being a soldierbeast and having problems with walking.

Saybrook kneeled by the former captain's side as the pain gradually subsided. As he regained his composure, Bandon explained how he felt, the otter regarding him with understanding sympathy. Once he saw that the worst of Bandon's discomfort had passed, Saybrook turned to the kitchen staff and ordered them to fix up the stoat's porridge.

Telling the otter about these experiences, Bandon apologized for making such a scene while everybeast was so busy preparing lunch. "Aw, t'ain't nothin'," Saybrook assured him. "Ye can't help when these things come o'er you, an' I definitely want ye around somebeast else when it happens rather than bein' on yore own. Just take a rest 'ere for a spell, an' we'll soon 'ave somethin' for ye t' snack on that'll be worth the wait!"

Soon his porridge was ready, and Saybrook also added a sweet roll to the meal, with a pinch of saffron and some honey glaze on the top. "Had these made yesterday," the otter captain informed him. "Some of it's from what th' Redwallers supplied us, other's from th' Long Patrol's own gardens an' stocks. Not 'xactly what you'd expect in an army, but we thought we might as well liven up th' mood 'round 'ere with a few treats, after all that's happened. I think you deserve as much, Bandy mate, and gettin' some sweets inta you might give ye a bit more strength t' use them crutches."

Bandon didn't object in the least, delighted at receiving some extra attention. _More of that nostalgic yearning, _he thought to himself. _Maybe I'm trying to relive my lost childhood…_ If so, he would indulge himself; he wasn't a captain anymore, so there was no front to put up for others. He sat there, enjoying his meal while watching the kitchen staff go about their duties. While these soldiers doing part-time work as cooks were hardly on the level of Redwall Abbey's dedicated Friar in terms of culinary skills, it was obvious they had done their best to make his simple food as tasty as possible. The cinnamon blended well with the apple pieces in the porridge, and the sweet roll complemented it nicely. As he ate, he thought about recent events that had transpired at Salamandastron.

On the same night that Bandon had shared his story of the Wildcat War with Ansgar, the twenty wayward Long Patrol hares led by Colonel Clewiston had arrived at the mountain. These were the ones assigned by Urthfist to defend Salamandastron while the main portion of the Long Patrol travelled with him to Redwall to confront Urthblood. Clewiston's caretaker contingent had been quickly subdued by the Flitchaye sleeping gas Urthblood employed to retake the mountain. Afterwards, they'd escaped from custody and made for Redwall themselves to join their master, only to discover upon their arrival at the Abbey that Urthfist's force had already left once the mad badger realized his brother had struck out for Salamandastron many days before. Clewiston's squad had missed the entire battle as a result, for which Bandon was immensely grateful; even the reduced force Urthblood's army had had to engage proved deadly enough.

Faced with the death of their Lord, Clewiston and his hares were offered a deal from Urthblood: if the surviving Long Patrol swore allegiance to him, they would be allowed to remain as defenders of Salamandastron, just as they were meant to be - along with Urthblood's own soldiers, of course. Predictably, the hares had received this proposal less than enthusiastically, even - or especially - after the badger played his two trump cards.

The first had been the unexpected appearance of four searat dreadnoughts, the mightiest ships of Tratton's navy, the day after Clewiston's arrival. The ships had positioned themselves just offshore from the mountain fortress, prows aimed at their target, their presence foreboding as the Searat King kept the creatures inside Salamandastron guessing as to his intentions. Ultimately, perhaps since the rodent invasion fleet couldn't know with certainty how many beasts guarded the Badger Lords' home or which side had triumphed in the recent battle, it had pulled up anchor and headed back to Terramort, this appearance limited to a show of strength. But it was a clear demonstration of the threat the seavermin posed to the lands, and Urthblood had impressed upon Clewiston just how valuable the Long Patrol would be in keeping the coastlands safe from Tratton.

The second card - and this had surprised Bandon as well - was the badger's declaration that, while any hares not in need of medical treatment would be free to leave the mountain anytime they wished, that largess would not be extended to Hanchett. The gravely wounded hare, who'd been smashed under Urthblood's armored bulk when the badger fell on him after Hanchett had knocked Urthblood's legs out from under him during the duel with Urthfist, was to be kept at Salamandastron to face charges of treason, when and if he recovered. The badger reasoned that since Hanchett had directly attacked the true Lord of the Mountain, his transgression warranted sterner discipline than those hares who had simply fought in the main battle. Clewiston and his companions were outraged by this, and even Bandon, who wasn't exactly the Long Patrol's greatest admirer, had to admit that it struck him as rather unfair. But Urthblood had dropped a not-so-subtle hint that if the hares swore their loyalty to him, that might convince him to show more leniency in any sentence he pronounced on Hanchett…

In the end, however, the hares decided against swearing fealty to Urthblood. In their minds, it made no sense to stand against the searat menace by allying themselves with a creature they considered an even greater menace, and the entire platoon could not be sacrificed for the sake of a single hare. As such, yesterday the Long Patrol had gathered themselves together, the survivors from the battle uniting with Clewiston's squad, and had departed for Redwall. The young Abbey otter Winokur, who had left Redwall to travel with Urthblood's army as a peacemaker, had promised them that they would be allowed to live there if they wished, and it appeared they intended to take him up on that offer. Accompanying them was Broggen, who'd asked for and received his honourable discharge as promised by Urthblood. He too would travel to Redwall, and hope the Abbeyfolk would be kind enough to accept a stoat into their community.

Bandon smiled at the memory of Mina describing to him Clewiston's reaction upon learning he'd not only be travelling with a stoat but would have to share the Abbey with him henceforth, the puffed-up longears having groused and cursed and carried on like an overgrown child. The stuffy Colonel had been put in his place by none other than Winokur himself, who'd made it clear that if any of the Long Patrol expected to be welcomed at Redwall, they had better treat all goodbeasts with courtesy and respect. Bandon hadn't spoken much to the young otter during their journey to Salamandastron, but this incident had given the stoat a whole new level of respect for him!

Only four hares remained at Salamandastron now, including Hanchett. They were still being treated for their injuries and weren't able to travel yet. Another outsider remaining at the mountain was the Redwall squirrel Alexander, who by some accounts had been the beast to put an arrow through the eye of Major Safford, the highest-ranking Long Patrol present for the battle. Alex chose to stay in order to keep an eye on the remaining hares and make sure Urthblood held to his promise to treat them well, which included giving Hanchett a fair trial; the squirrel had promised that to Clewiston.

Of course, Alex had an even bigger reason for remaining at Salamandastron, and that was Lady Mina herself. He was hardly the first male squirrel to be smitten by her beauty and elegance, but what surprised Bandon was how Mina seemed to return these affections. In all the time he'd known the Gawtrybe Lady, she had always struck Bandon as remote, proper and superior, and certainly as somebeast who would consider romantic matters a distraction from her duty to her tribe and to Lord Urthblood. She'd never come across as somebeast who might share in an infatuation or advance made toward her by a potential suitor. But she and the Redwaller seemed inseparable after the battle. And in spite of everything that had happened - her own injury and the friends and comrades she'd lost - Mina looked happier and more carefree than Bandon could ever recall seeing her. In fact, he'd heard rumours that the two squirrels were already planning for their life together, that they would head back to Redwall along with the wounded Long Patrol once those hares were ready to travel, and have the Abbess wed them. _Wouldn't be surprised if they've consummated that future marriage already, hehe!_

The day before the hares left with Winokur and Broggen, Urthblood had held a formal burial ceremony for Machus. Mykola was indeed able to attend the interment of his fallen Sword as he'd wanted, despite his wounds not being fully healed yet. Bandon had learned from the convalescent swordfox that Machus was borne out on a stretcher to the grave painstakingly carved out of the very mountain rock by the moles. To the surprise of everybeast present, the fox's head was back on; Urthblood had personally sewn it onto Machus's body after the battle, somehow managing the task by himself with only one paw, so that the swordfox chieftain could be laid to rest in a proper, dignified manner. Machus looked as if he'd never been beheaded by the crazed badger he prevented from cutting his master down, his face peaceful and serene and only the strong threads criss-crossing the fur around his neck witnessing that he'd ever suffered such a dismemberment. He was placed in the grave, Urthblood delivered a moving speech about how much Machus's selfless service had meant for him and for all the lands and how much he would be missed – sentiments shared wholeheartedly by all the swordfoxes – and then the pit was filled with earth from the the Long Patrols' now-trampled gardens, and topped off with the stone flecks and gravel left over from the moles' excavation of the grave. In time, a monument or statue of some kind would honour the Sword's final resting place; Urthblood had mentioned that he had a beast in mind in the North who would be particularly suited to such an endeavour. It had been a very moving ceremony, and all the foxes had freely allowed tears to dampen their cheek fur – perhaps not so surprising in the case of Mykola, who was known for his emotional nature, but that the other swordfoxes had displayed such sentiments too spoke to how much Machus had meant to them. Bandon wished he could've attended it himself.

All that remained now was to prepare for the unknown challenges that lay ahead. Urthfist was slain, his hares vanquished, and the older brother now sat uncontested upon the throne of Salamandastron. Urthblood and his remaining captains kept themselves busy reorganizing the remnants of their regiments, including the assignment of the remaining vermin to Mattoon. They also laboured to strengthen the mountain's defences to withstand any assault force Tratton might throw against it; the Searat King might have refrained from attacking during his latest appearance days ago, but he'd undoubtedly be back to claim Salamandastron for himself some day in the future. Urthblood would send for reinforcements from the Northlands later; whether these would include new vermin regiments to relieve Mattoon remained unclear. Bandon had also heard rumours of a large contingent of Gawtrybe being summoned to provide some much-needed archery capabilities to the forces stationed at the mountain. And in the long run, Urthblood would seek to expand his influence across Mossflower, gathering new allies and friends in his quest to protect the lands from the dark threat his prophecy foretold. Whatever the future carried in its bosom, it was clear that momentous changes were coming.

And in the midst of all these sweeping changes was Bandon himself, contentedly finishing off his porridge and sweet roll. Unless Lord Urthblood found some way for him to participate in military matters in spite of his disability, the one-legged stoat would take no part in the badger's plans beyond training new recruits for his army. That was another part of his new life that rather rankled him; he would have wanted to be here, at Salamandastron, when so many important events were about to unfold instead of being sent back to the North. But it seemed the world would have to make its merry turns without him. It annoyed him, but he was prepared to accept it.

Munching down the last of his meal, Bandon gave his empty bowl to a nearby mouse and pushed the stool against the wall to sit back and let the food settle in his stomach. It seemed the kitchen helpers were too busy to stop and engage in any conversation with him, but that was all right; he was content to just watch them carry out their duties while he took a breather. Once he'd rested for a bit, he'd leave and see if there was anyplace else he wanted to explore.

He'd not been sitting there long when a hare entered the kitchen - one of the four recovering Long Patrol who remained at Salamandastron while their kin travelled to Redwall. Aside from the still-comatose Hanchett, Bandon had never bothered to learn their names. This one wore his uniform tunic which, like himself, showed the wear and tear of all he'd endured. He strode up to Saybrook and made some motions to the otter captain.

"It's… Saticoy, right?" Saybrook inquired. The hare nodded in response. Saybrook went on, "Yeah, I 'eard ye were comin'. You an' yore hare mateys wanted t' eat yore lunch in the infirmary by yoreselves, like you usually do, right? Well, we're almost done with it – fish soup, vegetable stew, porridge an' some fruit. Ain't exactly proper hare food, or so I been given t' understand, but seein' as how yore under treatment, don't reckon you'd be up fer tacklin' anything heavier. Just rest yore bobtail down somewheres, an' it'll be ready in a moment…"

Saticoy glanced around for someplace to sit, and noticed the one-legged stoat resting on the stool. A flurry of emotions flashed across the hare's face: surprise, disgust, and a certain understated pity upon spying the stump where Bandon's footpaw should have been. In the end, his expression settled into one of distaste and discomfort over having the stoat there, though for exactly what reason remained unclear.

Bandon felt equally uncomfortable at having the hare staring at him thus. He wasn't particularly fond of the Long Patrol either, and was of half a mind to let this hare know it. But he decided against it. Instead, he tried to be friendly.

"Howdy there. I'm Bandon." He offered his paw to the hare, but Saticoy just stood there, confounded by the stoat's attempt at camaraderie. Bandon inwardly scowled at the hare's bad grace, but pushed on with his forced congeniality. "Jus' popped down 'ere fer a quick lunch. These beasts 'ere may just be simple soldiers, but they can whip up quite a fine meal when they put their mind to it. Guess y' can 'preciate that, bein' a hare an' all, harr harr…"

Saticoy kept looking at him, perhaps suspicious of his apparent friendliness, perhaps unsure whether his remarks about hares had been intended as an insult or not.

"So, um… Saticoy," Bandon continued awkwardly, recalling the name by which Saybrook had addressed the hare, "seems you an' yer three friend are th' only Long Patrol left at Salamandastron. Guess that might get a bit lonely, what with all us Northerners crowdin' up th' place now. Have y' dwelt 'ere long?"

Saticoy remained silent.

By now, the hare's apparent lack of manners was really starting to annoy Bandon. He couldn't help but state, somewhat pointedly, "Y' know, where I come from, it's considered impolite not t' answer when somebeast speaks t' you…"

The hare scowled angrily at him and turned away. The bustling kitchen staff had by this time finally noticed the stoat's attempts at conversation with the Long Patrol warrior. "Bandon…" Saybrook called to him, "I don't think ye should - "

But Bandon was too miffed at Saticoy's discourteous attitude to heed the otter captain. "What's th' matter, flopears?" he shouted at the hare. "Think yer tongue's too pure t' soil it with words fer a lowly, miserable stoat?"

Saticoy rounded back on him, his gaze cold and hard. For a moment, it looked as if he might actually attack the crippled stoat, a prospect that frightened Bandon as the Long Patrol were renowned for their paw-to-paw fighting skills. But before it came to blows, a mouse rushed forward to tell the silent hare that his food was ready, and that he'd help Saticoy carry the trays to his friends in sickbay. With what looked like a supreme effort of will, paws fairly trembling with suppressed rage, Saticoy took a tray laden with a bowl of fish soup and vegetable stew, and left the kitchen with the mouse at his heels, giving one last, venomous look at the stoat.

Saybrook stalked over to Bandon and pierced his former fellow captain with an unsparing glare. "Why in Hellgates did ye have t' antagonize th' pore scallywag like that?"

Bandon remained unapologetic. "I'm sorry, Saybrook matey, but I'm just sick an' tired o' these longeared buffoons refusin' to treat us vermin with even th' most basic courtesy. I tried t' be nice, I tried t' extend a paw o' friendship to that hare even after everythin' that's happened, but you saw how 'ee treated me! Wouldn't even deign me with a single paltry word, that starch-scutted - "

The otter captain interrupted him. "Bandon, he were unable t' respond t' ye in any way. He's mute."

"Mute?" Bandon felt a terrible twisting in his gut, and suddenly knew why Saybrook - and Saticoy - had reacted as they had. "You don't mean ... ?"

"Aye, I do. He got 'is throat sliced durin' the battle, but was saved by Cap'n Abellon's mice an' our foxes. He's doin' quite well now, but 'is wound robbed 'im of 'is voice forevermore."

Bandon buried his face in his paws. Yes, he'd known one of the hares had been wounded in such a manner - how could he not have, sharing the infirmary with them for so many days? - but his own personal trials and concerns had chased that awareness from the forefront of his thoughts. And the raised collar of Saticoy's tunic had hidden any bandages the hare still wore, denying Bandon a vital visual clue that might otherwise have jogged his memory. "Cursed seasons, what've I done?"

"You didn't know, so it ain't really yore fault," Saybrook sighed. "But ye hafta be more careful 'round those hares. 'Member, Lord Urthblood still hopes t' win 'em over to 'is cause someday, and we hafta start by convincin' 'em that at least 'is soldiers are decent sorts. I knew ye were tryin' to be kind, but that kinda went…"

"Yeah, I know…" Bandon said, voice heavy with regret. "That were stupid o' me, really stupid…" He looked up at Saybrook. "Think I oughta be goin' now, I've already bothered yer kitchen 'nuff as 'tis."

"Nay, not t' worry," Saybrook assured him. "T'were nice havin' ye here, in spite o' th' liddle keffufle just now. Long as I'm around, ye'll always be welcome in these kitchens."

The stoat nodded gratefully, then a more determined look settled on his face. "Saybrook, 'fore I leave, could y' give me another sweet roll t' bring with me?"

Saybrook showed puzzlement at this request, before realizing just why Bandon was asking. "Well, awright – I'll give ye two, in fact." He went off to a cupboard, and soon returned with the rolls wrapped in a cloth. "Here ye go. Just remember what I said – be careful."

"I will. Thanks."

Bandon tucked the sweet rolls into his old captain's vest that he'd taken to wearing since his discharge from the infirmary, and picked up his crutches to hop out of the kitchen. For the first time that day, he had somewhere he needed to be.

* * *

When Bandon arrived at the sickbay, he quickly found Saticoy and his two fellow hares gathered around the bed of the still-unconscious Hanchett. Due to their comatose companion's state, the other three more ambulatory Long Patrol had made this corner of the chamber theirs in the past days. They preferred to keep their own company, separated from Lord Urthblood's soldiers. The stoat suspected that at least one or two of them had recovered sufficiently that they could have been allowed to leave the infirmary, but they'd chosen to stay precisely to have some privacy from their old enemies - there weren't many beasts left in the sickbay. Of course, their self-imposed solitude might also have been because they wanted to watch over Hanchett, who still needed extensive care for his injuries. They obviously didn't trust their badger host not to send down his troops to snatch the young hare away from his bed for a summary execution.

Preparing himself for the probability of a tense confrontation, he trotted over to the seated hares. They noted his approach with surprised looks, Saticoy's gaze turning to the same cold and hostile one he'd last given the stoat down in the kitchens. Coming to stand before them, Bandon tried to quickly think of something to say, but one of the hares beat him to it.

"Wot're you doing here, stoat?" said one with his ribs encased in bandages and his left paw in a sling, in a tone that was far from welcoming.

Bandon took a deep breath to calm himself and not let any of their taunts get under his skin. "I… I came here t' apologize."

"Apologize?" another hare with his head wrapped in a casing around his long ears asked with puzzlement.

"Aye. T'were jus' down in th' kitchens when I happened 'pon yer friend 'ere... " He nodded to indicate Saticoy. "I tried t' be friendly with 'im, an' when 'ee didn't answer I thought 'ee were bein' rude. Didn't realize he'd lost 'is voice in th' battle, so I said some unkind words t' him…"

Saticoy's gaze turned from hostile to quizzical, the hare now visibly unsure why this vermin had come here to make amends. His companions seemed to share his bewilderment.

"Yes, he did seem rather put out when he came back with our tuck just now," said the one with his paw in a sling. "Figured it'd be one of Urthblood's blinkin' vermin to've caused him such grief…"

This attitude greatly vexed him, but Bandon was determined not to let his apology attempt be sidetracked. "Well, I just came 'ere t' say I'm sorry, Saticoy. T'were really thoughtless o' me to say th' things I did, 'specially after I'd heard one o' ye had been made mute by 'is injuries. Wasn't meanin' t' be rude like that, I just thought ye refused t' speak to me after I'd tried bein' friendly."

Saticoy couldn't answer, of course, so Bandon had only the hare's expression to go by to figure out whether his apology had been accepted. The mute hare seemed conflicted, still uncertain why the stoat had hopped all the way to the infirmary on his crutches to offer this excuse for the way he'd behaved. After awhile, he simply shrugged, which Bandon took as a sign that Saticoy at least considered forgiving the stoat for his previous outburst.

The hare with his arm in a sling gave voice to what Saticoy couldn't. "Well, yer apology's accepted then. You c'n jolly well leave now, an' don't let th' door hit ya on th' way out."

Pointedly, the rude hare turned to the bed next to him, where Hanchett lay. The young beast was in a sorry state, covered all over with bandages, bruises and swellings, and dead to the world.

"How's 'ee doin'?" Bandon inquired.

The hare glanced at him, annoyed with his persistence. Why was this stoat so interested in the concerns of the Long Patrol? "Wot's it to you, frightface?"

"I'm jus' concerned, an' I'd like t' know. Um, d'ye mind if I sit down, uh…?"

"Traughber. Sergeant Traughber. And yeah, you can sit your tail down on the bed over there if you're so blinkin' tired an' set on inflictin' your presence on us."

"Eh, thanks." Bandon lowered himself onto the mattress of a bed slightly removed from the hares', putting his crutches aside. Looking at Hanchett, who lay deep in troubled sleep, he couldn't help but feel a stab of pity for the unfortunate Long Patrol runner, and for the faithful comrades who maintained vigilance over him day and night. Bandon knew just how painful it was to wait breathlessly while a close friend hung by a thread between life and death.

"Since you're askin', he's doing quite well, actually," Traughber grudgingly replied. "Leastways, that's wot your bally fox healers claim. Might look pretty dire right now, but if Hanch's wounds were truly life-threatening, he prob'ly woulda succumbed to 'em by now. I'm sure that'll please His Bloodiness – wouldn't want Hanchett t' miss his own bloomin' execution…"

The stoat couldn't help but take some offense at this. "Lord Urthblood ain't decided on that one way or th' other, far's I know. He might still spare Hanch."

Traughber's expression grew stony. "That's 'Hanchett' t' you, stoat - only us Long Patrol get t' call him Hanch. An' why would Urthblood show him any mercy now? We've already made it jolly blinkin' clear we'll not serve him under any circumstances, so Hanchett's useless as a hostage to him."

"'ee ain't a hostage!" Bandon insisted. "Lord Urthblood wouldn't stoop t' such tactics."

"Oh, really?" Traughber regarded him sceptically. "Then mebbe you don't know your master as well as you think, chap…"

_What does that mean?_ Bandon thought irritably, but went on. "Anyways, 'ee did attack the rightful Lord o' th' Mountain, in th' midst of a duel, no less…"

Once again, the gazes of Traughber and his two lucid companions turned cold. "You implyin' Hanch holds any fault in the matter?"

Bandon found himself racing to explain his words without making the situation any worse. "I'm sayin' that, while I don't fully understand ner even agree with Lord Urthblood's decisions, he's got his reasons here. I mean, Hanchett did interrupt those two badgers while they were fightin', didn't 'ee, an' tip th' balance in favour of Urthfist?"

"He did what any honourable Long Patrol woulda done: come to his Lord's aid when… when Lord Urthfist needed him to." Traughber showed clear difficulty or reluctance in admitting that Urthfist had indeed shown obvious signs of getting sloppy and growing tired towards the end of his last fight. "He stepped forward to save his master, at great cost to himself, as you can plainly see. And unless I'm jolly well mistaken, didn't Urthblood's chief fox lackey stab Urthfist in th' bleedin' back, 'fore he got his head so deservedly lopped off?"

It rankled Bandon to hear Machus' noble self-sacrifice denigrated in such a manner, but he did his best to keep his composure. "Hanchett had already interfered in our masters' duel, so Machus was entitled to do the same. And as ye so tactfully mention, 'ee's dead now, so there's no need t' besmirch his memory."

"How convenient for him," the hare with the bandaged head muttered.

Bandon gave the hare a sour look. "Even takin' Hanchett inta account, I think Lord Urthblood's shown remarkably kindness t' ye since th' battle. He's allowed ye th' choice o' servin' 'im or not, taken care o' yer injuries, allowin' ye to leave whenever ye want – "

"Killed Lord Urthfist and slew over half our number," Traughber pointedly finished for him.

"That's th' way of battle, friend. Shall I rattle off all th' names o' comrades I lost? We'd be 'ere all night! Ye're Long Patrol, ye've been in battle b'fore, 'aven't ye? What would Urthfist 'ave done t' us, if he'd been victorious?"

That gave the hares a bit of a pause, but they quickly reverted to their defiant attitude. "I dunno," Traughber said. "I'll admit that maybe you have treated us better'n we would've treated you if we'd won. But then, you've gotta, don'tcher, if you still wanna win us over to your cause an' show just how noble you are to the beasts of the lands. And you're forgettin' one thing – Lord Urthfist an' us Long Patrol belong here at Salamandastron. You don't, an' neither does Urthblood. In fact, he doesn't belong anywhere."

Bandon did his best to ignore the disparagement of his own Lord, trying to keep the discussion framed in what he considered to be reasonable terms. "Look, I dunno 'bout all th' bad blood 'tween you an' Urthblood, but I really 'spect it's all a big misunderstandin' on yer part…"

"Misunderstandin'?!" Traughber practically shouted in a tone that drew the attention of some other nearby beasts in the sickbay. "If you honestly think Lord Urthfist would hold such enmity for his brother fer twenty seasons over a simple misunderstandin', you're even more flippin' ignorant than I thought! That is, if you really are ignorant." He eyed the stoat suspiciously. "Mebbe His Bloodiness sent you here as one of his ploys to ensnare us in his web…"

This really drew Bandon's ire. "Fer yer information, hare, I'm no longer part o' Urthblood's forces. Yer own master saw t' that." He patted the stump of his left leg to illustrate his point. This seemed to quiet Traughber, as if he didn't have the heart to argue with somebeast who'd lost so much at the paws of his Lord. His speaking companion showed no such compunction.

"Unless I'm mistaken" the third hare said, narrowing his eyes, "weren't you that very same one-legged stoat who called Lord Urthfist a 'black-striped butcher' during our first night here?"

So, they still remember that. Well, Bandon would not shy away from what he'd said. "Yeah, that were me. An' tell me, why shouldn't I've said that? T'was my stoats fallin' to 'is mad blade durin' 'is rampage, along with lotsa rats 'n' ferrets 'n' weasels I called friends as well. From where we stood, he was a butcher, an' an insane one at that. What else would we call 'im?"

Traughber and the hare with the bandaged head tensed at the stoat's unrepentant attitude. "I think you'd better leave now," Traughber said coldly.

It would probably have been wise to do as the hare had sternly suggested, but Bandon did not want to yield the argument on their terms. "Ye've been sayin' far worse things 'bout Urthblood where we c'n hear it, an' you don't see us gettin' our fur all up in hackles over it! Urthfist cut off me leg an' made me a cripple, deprivin' me o' me captainhood an' future, an' 'ee regarded me an' all other so-called 'vermin' as nothin' but dregs t' be cleansed from th' lands. How'm I s'posed t' think o' him? That he were the noblest, kindest creature in th' world an' I should admire 'im fer what 'ee did an' believed? Would ye 'ave done that in my place? It'd be like… like Saticoy 'ere havin' nothin' but kind thoughts fer th' mice who robbed 'im of 'is voice."

"I said you'd better leave now," Traughber repeated in the same cold voice. His face, however, seemed to betray an uncertain mix of emotions, as did that of the third hare to a lesser extent. Glancing at Saticoy, who sat on the bed behind them, Bandon noted that the mute hare seemed the most conflicted of all.

The stoat might have pressed his point, despite the hare's warning, but a "harrumph" from behind him alerted him to the presence of Sappakit.

"You should do as the good hare asked and leave them alone," the fox healer said sternly, unhappy with the stoat nearly causing a ruckus in his sickbay.

This brought Bandon back down to earth. He cursed at himself; how much of an idiot had he been to go and antagonize these hares right here in the infirmary? And after coming to apologize for the antagonising he'd already given one of them down in the kitchens, no less!

He quickly excused himself, retrieving his crutches and hopping out of the chamber without bothering to check what looks the Long Patrol gave his retreating back; he could guess that well enough himself. Soon, he was out of the infirmary, where he took a short breather, feeling like the biggest fool of a stoat to have ever walked the lands… well, hopped about the lands on one footpaw, at any rate.

Suddenly he heard a cough behind him. Turning, he saw that none other than Saticoy had followed him out of the infirmary.

Bandon tensed. Had this hare come to exact vengeance for the insults given to his master, and the unintended one about his muteness down in the kitchen? The stoat tried to forestall any hostility by one again apologizing profusely. "I… I'm sorry, Satty, I really am! I didn't intend to…"

But the hare simply waved his paws and stepped forward. Standing before the stoat, who remained worried that some broken bones or welts might be in his immediate future, Saticoy instead reached out a paw of truce. Bandon nervously accepted it, and soon the two beasts shook each others' paws like the stoat had wanted to do when first meeting him in the kitchen.

"Lemme apologize – again – fer what I said," the stoat sighed as their shake ended. "I were upset an' angry an' I've… 'ad some difficulties with you Long Patrol since we first encountered each other. I mean, I know ye don't think highly o' me kind… not that I blame ye, given what vermin musta done to ye through th' seasons. I got more antagonistic than I shoulda, and I'm honestly sorry fer that…"

Saticoy merely gave a melancholy sigh, unable to express himself in any other way. Bandon suddenly remembered the sweet rolls he had tucked in his vest. He took them out and unrolled them from the cloth, presenting them to the hare. "Heh, forgot 'bout these. I asked Saybrook t' give 'em to me 'fore I came up t' apologize, as a kind of peace-offering. Got so caught up in arguin' with yer mates that it slipped me mind t' offer it…"

Glancing around, he spied an outcropping in the wall that seemed to have been carved out specifically for anybeast who needed to take a rest. Beckoning to the hare, he settled himself down upon it, and Saticoy uneasily did the same. Bandon offered one roll to his unlikely dining companion, and soon both were nibbling contentedly on the crusty pastries.

After a little while, the stoat turned to the hare again. "Shame 'bout yer voice, matey. It seems we both lost somethin' dear t' us in th' battle."

Looking at the stump underneath Bandon's knee, the hare nodded mournfully. The stoat was glad that he could share his point of view to at least some extent.

Then he leaned in to the hare, keeping his voice low in case any of Urthblood's passing soldiers might hear. "By th' way, is it true one o' yer comrades… Traughber, weren't it? Is it true 'ee killed Halpryn, the kite, while clutched in 'er talons in mid-flight, an' survived th' fall to th' ground with 'er?"

Now it was Saticoy's turn to look worried. Perhaps he was unsure how the stoat would react to the fact that his fellow hare had killed such a high-standing warrior in the crimson badger's forces. But he nodded nonetheless.

Bandon gave him a sly grin. "I know I ought not say this – Halpryn were a dedicated captain, even if she weren't 'xactly popular with us rank 'n' file – but that were mighty impressive of 'im. That sure's a feat 'ee can be proud of fer th' rest o' his life."

It took a moment, but Saticoy eventually gave a faint smile back.

* * *

_Not as much to say here. The main reason for this chapter, aside from deepening Bandon's character arc, is to provide a little treat for Killy, who is a noted Long Patrol fan (I also want to thank her for making sure that the descriptions of phantom pains are more or less accurate). I do apologize that I couldn't keep from throwing a few jabs at the esteemed defenders of Salamandastron – Clewiston in particular – but I hope you'll still find it satisfying your appetite for hare!_

_Dude, that sounded a little dirty…_

_However, I should also add a bit of a warning for the next two chapters, both of which will contain flashback scenes. These chapters will take a darker, more mature turn that might be uncomfortable for some readers – I'm a little worried that it might even push the story into "M" territory. Let me know what you think when they go up – if it's really bad, I'll change the story rating and maybe repost this fic without those two flashbacks. _


	7. Chapter 7

Time passed, and Bandon's condition steadily improved. A few days after the incident with the hares, the fox healers removed the stoat's bandages and declared that his stump had sealed over enough for him to walk around without any dressings, as long as he was careful not to get it dirty or rough it up. The stitches would eventually come out by themselves, and then the healing process would be complete. He'd still need to check in with the foxes from time to time to rule out any complications, and he was still plagued by those phantom pains, but overall he felt as healthy and sprightly as he ever had.

He wasn't the only one whose condition had improved. Around the same time that Bandon's bandages were removed, Hanchett had woken up from the comatose state he'd hovered in ever since the battle. He was understandably very weak and in pain from his injuries, but also lucid enough to trade short exchanges with the swordfoxes and his fellow hares, and to accept a few sips of water and morsels of solid food. After thorough examination by Sappakit - which didn't exactly thrill the newly-awakened hare - Hanchett was declared out of any real danger and on track to make a full recovery.

Shortly afterward, Urthblood surprised everybeast - not least of all the Long Patrol - by issuing Hanchett a full and complete pardon. There'd been no tribunal or court martial, as had been implied, and Urthblood had discussed his decision with nobeast else beforepaw. To Bandon's recollection, the Badger Lord had not even visited Hanchett once since the hare's awakening. Word was simply sent that Hanchett was pardoned for whatever offenses he'd committed, and was free to leave Salamandastron once he was recovered enough to undertake the journey to Redwall where most of the Long Patrol had already gone. His comrades Traughber, Baxley and Saticoy, who were much farther along in their own recovery, had decided to stay at the mountain until the matter of Hanchett was decided one way or the other, and were now determined to stick with him until they could all travel to the Abbey together. The hares hadn't seemed particularly grateful at Urthblood's unexpected display of mercy, but then they'd not considered the charges against Hanchett valid in the first place.

Today marked nearly a week since Hanchett's pardon. Bandon paced through the labyrinthine corridors of the mountain fortress with the aid of only a single crutch; he'd grown confident enough in its use for that, able even to negotiate stairs with only slight difficulty. He made for the southern exit from Salamandastron, seeking to venture out onto its open slopes. The healer foxes had dissuaded him from attempting any such excursions before, but had recently granted him permission to increase his exercise regimen, and Bandon was determined to take full advantage of that freedom to get some fresh air and bask in the natural light of the sun rather than the gloomy torches of the mountain halls.

Saluting the otters guarding the entrance, he paused at the tunnel opening and stood gazing out upon the southern slopes of the mountain. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the midday brightness, but when they did he was captivated by the magnificent sight. Even here, just halfway up the slopes of Salamandastron, the view was wonderful – the rocky cliffs and outcroppings of the mountain at his back, the wide coastal plain stretching away before him to the south for as far as the eye could see, the rising foothills with their sparse copses and woods blending into the misty line of mountains guarding the plains to the east, and to the west the endless sea, its blue surface resplendent with the reflections of the noonday sun. It struck Bandon that in all the time he'd been at Salamandastron, he had yet to go up to the plateau. This was an oversight he had to redress as soon as he was able; the view was sure to be even more breathtaking from up there!

A few other beasts could be seen from this vantage - a couple of mice and hedgehogs stationed out on the slopes to stand lookout duty, and some otters busy fishing in the shallows down along the shore. At the eastern foot of the mountain, where the rock surrendered to the sandy soil of the plains, a team of moles under the supervision of a few swordfoxes laboured to raise a tall stone obelisk by the mass graves that had been dug for the soldiery after the battle. Urthblood had ordered that each of the regimental graves would be marked with such a monument, the names of each fallen warrior interred beneath the sands engraved upon it. After the moles had finished with their burial duties, they'd been set right on the task of carving out these memorial gravestones from blocks hewn from the interior of Salamandastron.

One such obelisk had actually been finished just a couple of days after the battle: the monument for the slain Long Patrol stood on its lonely spot to the south, where the hares had requested their dead be buried so they didn't have to suffer the unimaginable indignity of being laid to rest "alongside foxes an' vermin." The Badger Lord, in addition to treating their wounded and helping them bury their dead, had also declared that he would grant them a proper tombstone for their fallen comrades, and the moles had worked like madbeasts to get it finished before the hares left for Redwall. Upon seeing it as he prepared for the journey, Clewiston had predictably shown little gratitude.

Now the moles had finished most of the others. Bandon couldn't really make out which one they were raising now, but since they appeared to be working by the largest of the graves he assumed it was the rats who would be the first regiment of Lord Urthblood's so honoured. The gravesite lay more than a third of the way down the mountain slope, but the stoat figured he might as well make his way down to them and observe their work from a closer perspective.

As he tried to do so, however, he came to understand why Sappakit hadn't wanted him out on the mountainside until now. The rocky ground was uneven and difficult to navigate when hopping about on one foot, supported only by a single crutch. It was like walking down a large, continuous staircase, and a poorly built one at that, making him a ridiculous-looking figure as he stumbled his way toward the work crew. Eventually, his crutch came down on a bad spot and slipped, carrying him with it. As he tumbled to the ground, getting the wind knocked out of him and the crutch clattering across the rocks, the crewbeasts below finally noticed him. One of the foxes excused himself from the gathering to climb up and help the fallen stoat. As Bandon regarded his approaching rescuer from his sprawled position, he could tell by the vulpine's telltale limp just which fox it was.

Mykola reached him and helped him regain his footing, allowing the former stoat captain to lean on him while he retrieved Bandon's crutch. "What are you doing out here?"

"I were just given permission t' go out in th' daylight," Bandon answered as the fox placed the crutch back under his arm. "I noticed ye an' thought I'd come down t' watch yer work, but these slopes turned out t' be much too treacherous fer this ol' cripple."

"Seems so," the fox concurred as he signalled to the work crew to carry on with their task. "Come, let's sit down for a little while." He placed Bandon's other arm around his shoulder and led him over to a small outcropping where they could rest their tails.

"You know," Mykola went on as they made themselves as comfortable as they could on the bare rock, "sometimes I think it's a miracle I survived the battle at all when I had to fight on such treacherous ground with my short leg. I'm used to it most of the time, and on level terrain I hardly ever notice it. But here, even when I'm just walking up or down the slopes regularly I tend to feel a bit unsteady."

"Well, if anybeast could overcome such a disadvantage, it'd be you, what with yer swordfox trainin'," Bandon replied. "As fer me, I thought I'd gotten used t' navigatin' difficult ground inside th' mountain. Guess I overestimated my ability t' walk outside with one leg an' jus' one crutch."

Studying the mountainside around them, it occurred to the stoat that this was the very place which had seen so much chaotic bloodshed just a dozen or so days earlier. It would be hard to tell looking at it right now; the moles and their helpers had done an excellent job clearing away all the corpses – or the pieces of the corpses – for burial and cleaning the place up. The only signs that there'd even been a battle were a number of dark, dried patches of blood and the occasional scratches in the rockface where blades and spears and maces had missed their mark, or from the shields and armour that had hit it where their owners had fallen.

As he cast his gaze about him, Bandon tried to pinpoint just where he'd been when he lost his leg to Urthfist. But these craggy lower southern slopes mostly looked the same, and the fog of his memory and the chaos of the fighting made it difficult for him to remember just where he'd stood when that tragic event had changed his life forever. Perhaps if he could see the area from below, where he'd been when his part in the battle had come to such an abrupt end, he might be able to find the spot again ... although to be honest with himself, he wasn't entirely sure he'd want to.

His thoughts must have been easily readable to Mykola. "You're thinking about what happened that day?"

The stoat nodded. "Aye. 'Tis strange… t'were only a fortnight ago, an' yet it all seems so distant… as if I c'n barely remember a time when I had both me legs."

"Would you say you've grown used to your condition then?" the fox inquired.

"Well, not really. But I c'n definitely see how a life like this could work out fer me. If th' folk of River's End are as kind an' helpful t' me as you an' the other beasts here've been, there ought not be any problem gettin' used t' it, eventually."

"Well, let's hope so." Mykola patted his shoulder in encouragement. As with Bandon, the swordfox had recently been declared fully recovered by his fellow foxes and allowed to resume his usual duties. He still wore his bandages under the black uniform he'd recently donned again, and those would remain in place until the gash had fully healed, but otherwise he sported no sign of his battlefield injury.

Looking at the obelisk, which the mole crew had now managed to raise into position and were busy filling in the earth around it, the stoat said, "I'm glad Lord Urthblood decided t' honour his fallen warriors in such a way. After all th' blood they spilled fer him, they deserve no less."

"Indeed," the fox nodded. "We rarely had the opportunity to give marked gravestones at all, let alone such fine ones, in the North. We travelled around too much. But this is Salamandastron, Lord Urthblood's new seat of power, and after the way we fought to win it, I trust it will remain so for a long time. Here, he can give his dead the respect they deserve."

"True," Bandon replied. "An' there were so many slain 'ere, more'n we ever lost in any Northlands clash, so they deserved special. Is that monument dedicatered to th' rats?"

"It is. The moles had a lot of work painstakingly carving the name of every one of them neatly into the stone. They did a wonderful job; it looks magnificent! It felt fitting that theirs should be the first one raised. If all the others turn out as well - and there's no reason to think they won't - all our brave warriors will have memorials befitting their sacrifice."

"Did ye come out 'ere t' pay yer respects t' Liam?"

Mykola nodded sadly. "That's part of the reason, yes. It felt so… painful seeing his name carved into the face of that obelisk. I miss him so much that it hurts…"

Bandon laid a comforting paw on Mykola's shoulder. "I'm sorry if I interrupted yer vigil. You c'n go an' pay yer respects t' him now if ye wish…"

"No. I can do that once the crew is finished. For now I'd rather sit here with you. For what it's worth, I do enjoy your company, Bandon. Maybe it's because we shared adjacent beds down in the infirmary, and got to buoy each other's flagging spirits when we both needed it most. It strengthens me to talk to you as much as you do talking with me."

Bandon smiled in gratitude before looking a bit askance at the fox. "Ye said Liam were only part o' th' reason ye came out here?"

Mykola turned more reticent. "Erm, well… I also had a bit of a run-in with Mina again. Nothing serious, but I think it's best if I remain outside the mountain, away from her, for a little while."

This hardly surprised the stoat. Mina and Mykola had always been rather at odds with each other, the ofttimes grim and merciless Gawtrybe Lady disagreeing strongly with the lame swordfox's gentle and forgiving attitude toward troublesome, or blatantly wicked, beasts. During the Wolfrum incident at Redwall, Mina had outright condemned Mykola's concern for creatures like the rat as being immoral and despicable, and that he would never amount to any proper kind of soldier in Urthblood's army if he didn't change his outlook. Ever since then, the two had been on highly unfavourable terms - worsened by Mykola's refusal to accept her condemnations - refusing to speak to each other and only staying in the same room if absolutely necessary. That was probably just as well, given the kind of verbal blows they could come to.

"What 'appened this time?"

"Some of us foxes were discussing Tratton, and the threat he poses," Mykola said with a sigh, "when Mina came upon us. Not wanting to show bad grace, figuring we've all been through quite enough in light of the battle, I stayed and held my peace. She joined in our talk, amicably at first, but it didn't take long before she threw an insult my way. She said that in any upcoming battle between Salamandastron and the searats, I might pose a security risk, due to my sympathy for them. I got so angry with her that I offered some harsh words back, some words I wouldn't normally use with anybeast. It got heated enough that Andrus ordered us apart, clearly afraid it would turn into a shouting match - the last thing anybeast here needs right now. I volunteered to be part of the crew out here just to get away from her… and to pay my respects to Liam, of course."

"That t'were mighty unkind o' her, Mikky," the stoat said in support.

"Yes, and it's not just her. When Andrus sought to calm things between us, his tone suggested he empathized more with Mina than with me. Somehow, I doubt he will see eye to eye with me as much as his predecessor. Machus didn't entirely agree with my views either, but he at least respected what I was trying to do and allowed me some leeway in this area that Mina never would have. Andrus, while wise and capable, doesn't strike me as quite so understanding, and… I know I shouldn't say it, but sometimes I fear that serving under him will be like having Mina at my side constantly…"

When he'd first heard of Liam's death, Bandon knew it must surely have a profound affect on the short-legged fox, not having another like-minded friend to encourage Mykola to stay true to himself. But now it seemed as if the loss of Machus might affect him equally, especially if his new commander was even a fraction as hostile toward his beliefs as the squirrel Lady was. Maybe Mykola's straits were even more dire than those of the one legged stoat…

As if suddenly seeking to leaven whatever negative impression he might have given of both Andrus and Mina, the fox straightened. "Now, I'm not trying to put down either of them – Andrus is a great warrior and worthy of his new position as Sword, and Mina is a truly noble creature, not to mention the best archer I've ever met. We just don't… always get along."

Bandon smirked at him. "Everybeast 'round here seems t' ferget that I'm no soldier no more. I don't hafta cower to th' party line any longer. If'n y' wanna throw any invectives ye've got in mind at 'em, it's not like I'm gonna report ye or anythin'."

Mykola gave a faint smile back. "Well, I certainly trust you not to do that... but it still feels a little inappropriate to say such things about them. Besides - " he gave a nod towards the crew putting the finishing touches on the monument, " - there are more ears than your own around…"

"True that," the stoat nodded. Wanting to redirect their conversation toward more upbeat matters, Bandon cast about for something else to talk about. Mykola's earlier mention of Mina led the stoat to ponder that subject which soldiers, and malebeasts in general, have always been fond of talking about through the ages.

"Y' know," he said with a grin, "it's kinda a shame that Mina's just about th' only female here at th' mountain…"

This sudden change of subject seemed to puzzle the fox. "Oh, why do you say that?"

"Well, t' think that of all th' six hunnerd-odd beasts Lord Urthblood brought down with 'im from th' Northlands, there were only a pawful o' gals in th' whole army."

"Yes, that's true. There are several female otters in Saybrook's squad," Mykola responded, "and a few more in the shrew brigade. Not all of them made it through the battle. And neither did Halpryn, for that matter."

"Well, o' course, but that bird didn't count, not in what I'm sayin'. Not really compatible, if'n y' get my drift…"

"Um, I guess so," the fox said, seemingly a little uncomfortable with the subject.

Females were indeed a clear minority in Urthblood's forces. There were no actual rules prohibiting members of the "fairer" gender from joining the army - although, it had to be admitted, in the case of the otters and shrews and the various vermin species, the females most apt to pursue the military life were often no great deal fairer than their rugged male counterparts - and the badger mostly left such decisions to his officers in charge of recruiting new fighters. But in practice, ancient customs died hard. Since time immemorial, gender roles had been fairly well-established in most woodlander communities of the North, and few of the higher-ranking soldiers were comfortable with the notion of females in their regiments. This wasn't just due to tradition but to unit cohesion as well; having females serving alongside such coarse and often uncouth beasts as the warriors of the North might have a deleterious effect on morale, and tempt the males into spending more time chasing after them than on their military training. As such, most officers either refused the females who applied for enlistment, or relegated them to guard duty. The main exceptions to this were the otters and shrews, whose hardscrabble females had often stood and sailed alongside their male counterparts in their tribes' various journeys and adventures for as long as anybeast could remember.

The Gawtrybe were another exception; the members of their tribe were raised since childhood to defend their lands with bow and arrow, and they made no distinction between males and females in that regard. Then again, the Gawtrybe were an exception in many ways, being sworn allies of Urthblood's but not an official part of his army.

The work crew finished up with their task, leaving behind them the noble monument rising tall and proud from the sandy soil. Mykola told his fellow swordfoxes that he wanted to wait outside with the stoat for awhile, so they proceeded on up into the mountain, leaving the pair alone near the grave site. This caused Bandon to get a bit more… brazen in his conversation.

"Whatever th' case," he said, "the dearth o' females 'round 'ere can be chafin', lemme tell ya. Been over half a season since we came down t' Mossflower, hasn't it? In all that time I ain't had me one gel, an' I don't think any o' the other lads have either. Easy t' unnerstand if'n we're all a bit pent-up, eh?" He chuckled knowingly at the fox.

Mykola remained silent, seemingly uncomfortable with this kind of talk.

"Y' know," the stoat went on, "I don't think I can recall th' last time you were ever with a gel, Mikky. Or any o' you foxes, fer that matter."

"Eh, we haven't had much free time for such pursuits on our paws," the fox responded, carefully picking his words, "and I don't think we've encountered any vixens, or other females willing to… um, engage in what you're talking about."

"Yeah, but even 'fore we came down from th' North, I don't think I ever saw you very interested in 'em, or yer fellows joinin' us fer post-battle celebrations with th' wenches. Really, when were th' last time ye 'ad a female, Mikky?"

Mykola looked away, biting his lip.

"C'mon," Bandon insisted, "ye can tell me. We're both adult malebeasts, ain't we?"

It took a few moments for the fox to gather himself before he looked down and whispered, "I've never been with a female. Not in that way."

The stoat was completely taken back. "What?! Never?"

Mykola shook his head.

Bandon eyed him askance, before something occurred to him. "Well, I did hear them rumours 'bout you an' Wolfrum durin' our march south, but I thought they were just that…"

That got a rise out of the fox, who turned upon him angrily. "Me and Wolf-? By Hellgates, I thought those bloody rumours would've died down by now! It has nothing to do with that! That was a routine medical examination I gave him – there was nothing improper between me and Wolfrum, you hear that?!"

The stoat put up his paws defensively. "Awright, awright, sorry!" He looked away briefly, missing in that instant the somewhat conflicted look that flashed across Mykola's face for the merest moment. "Didn't realize t'was such a tender sore point fer you."

The fox calmed down and apologized. "I'm sorry too, Bandon. It's just that that false rumour caused a lot of hurt when it was spread at Redwall, to a lot of beasts, and it pains me to hear it brought up again… No, what I meant was that… I'm a virgin. I've never lain with anybeast."

"Huh… That's quite strange…"

"What's so strange about that?" Mykola challenged, somewhat affronted. "Lots of beasts my age have yet to do it!"

"Not any beast I hang 'round with… used t' hang round with…"

"Then maybe you've simply kept company with beasts who share your 'proclivities'. Though I wouldn't be surprised if at least some of them were lying. Soldierbeasts often feel like they have a lot to prove, especially with their fellow fighters, so they often resort to exaggerating their experiences in order not to lose face and feel like they fit in. I knew… at least one beast who did that."

"But, isn't that rather… frustrating fer ye?"

The fox's ears reddened slightly. "I have urges like any malebeast, but I'm content to just… take care of them myself, when the need arises and the opportunity presents itself. I just don't find it necessary to avail myself of any random maiden that comes my way. And you might find it interesting to know that I'm far from the only 'inexperienced' swordfox in my brigade… even before nearly half of them were lost two weeks ago."

This seemed to surprise Bandon even further. Mykola went on, "Not all of us – in fact, Kossuth was known to fool around with quite a few vixens in the various villages where we stayed during our marches. But for most of us, our self-imposed celibacy was one more way for us to feel superior to the lower ranks, a way to keep ourselves apart from them and above them. It allowed us to focus on our calling as warriors of the highest calibre and the greatest healers in the North, undistracted by the needs of the flesh. Lord Urthblood encouraged us in this regard, and Machus did too. Maybe not in so many words, but they kept us busy enough that we mostly didn't have the time for romantic pursuits."

"So that's th' reason y' aint never touched a gel?"

Mykola thought for a moment before answering. "Well… for me personally, there are other reasons as well. Whenever we come across villages and settlements during our campaigns, especially after the larger battles and skirmishes, I always see so many of the troops seek out young females, falsely pledging undying love just to win a bit of pleasurable company during the night. And then they leave the next morning having all but forgotten about their bedmates, looking forward only to their next conquest. In these same communities, I also see the former maidens walking around with swollen bellies or small babes in their arms, barely able to support themselves let alone a child. How many times have I heard these new mothers asking about their erstwhile lovers, ceaselessly wondering where they are and when they will return as promised, not realizing that their soldierly companions of a single night likely don't remember them at all, and neither know nor care about the offspring they might've sired. That is if these mothers haven't resigned themselves to the fact that the fathers are never coming back, and cursing the day they met.

"Now, the life of a fighting beast is fraught with danger, uncertainty and hardship, and getting to cozy up to a warm and willing partner during the night may be one of the few pleasures a soldier can get. If that is what they need to keep themselves sane and get through our travails, I'm not about to condemn them for it. But I personally have no desire to treat vulnerable females so shabbily, as an outlet to settle my desires and then cast aside. I don't care to live in the uncertainty that I may have fathered a son or daughter out there I know nothing about, that some poor young mother is forced to take care of by herself. I… I just don't want to be like that."

The fox locked gazes with Bandon, and something in his look – that somewhat sad, thoughtful look that Mykola so often carried – sparked a memory within the stoat's mind…

* * *

_Rowan was, Bandon had decided, quite the finest piece of tail he'd ever had. Or, failing that, she was most firmly in the top ten._

_After the final battle against the wildcats, once Urthblood had organized the relocation of the surviving felines to the furthest reaches of the Northlands, his forces involved in that epic conflict were redeployed south again, to a region southwest of Noonvale, not far from the western coast. There they stopped at a small settlement the badger's army had come across earlier in their campaigns, consisting of a village of woodlanders separated from a colony of vermin by a rocky plateau, the two groups having remarkably coexisted in relative peace for some generations. It had become something of a tradition among Urthblood's fighters to gather at local settlements like this after a great victory to celebrate their recent triumphs, and the local beasts were so overwhelmed by the Badger Lord's sheer might and strength of numbers that they were in no frame of mind to refuse anything. _

_While some of the soldiers contented themselves – by choice or necessity – with more innocuous activities, others sought out the kind of feminine comfort any red-blooded malebeast would desire. And Bandon had decided that Rowan was definitely the stoatmaid for him!_

_They met at the ramshackle tavern in the center of the vermin hamlet. The owner, a burly stoat by the name of Gurtcher, had set the lads up with entertainment for the evening, and since Bandon was a captain, he naturally had the first pick among the amorously willing females in the place. Not too many stoats lived in the village, and Bandon preferred his own kind whenever possible, but the ones present were quite fine indeed. It didn't take long before he'd snatched up the most fetching one for himself. _

_It hadn't been without effort. Urthblood's rules of conduct made it clearly understood that any female partner a soldier wished to take for himself must consent to such activities and be above a certain age, and anybeast disobeying either criteria would find himself dead in short order. As such, after making sure Rowan was of the proper attitude and seasons, Bandon set upon the task of twining her around his claw. He could be quite charming when he put his mind to it, and before long he managed to impress her with tales of his campaigning days and his performance during the recent battle, move her with declarations of his love for her, and seduce her with promises of all the ways he knew to please a female. Soon, he was rewarded for his efforts when she led him back to her small cottage. A bit more romantic batter, aided along with a couple of drinks from the bottle of spirits Gurtcher had provided him with, and before long the two stoats were kissing and fondling each other, shedding their clothes, and tumbling into bed._

"_Ouch, careful with me tail!" _

"_S-sorry. How's this?!"_

"_Ohhh, yes, that's good! Keep doin' that!"_

_Bandon was truly happy. He'd received more than his effort's worth from this Rowan. She was so beautiful, her fur so soft and her body so… perfect, yielding and gentle where it needed to be, yet firm and strong in just the right ways. She proved herself highly experienced in the ways of satisfying a male, as their preliminary maneuvers had shown, knowing just which spots to stroke and caress. Of course, he was equally experienced in the arts of pleasuring a female, having put them into practice many times before, and the two stoats soon turned to putty in each other's paws. Then, they turned into wild animals, joining together and matching each other as they climbed toward the summit of their lovemaking. _

"_Oh, oh, ye're so beautiful, Rowan, so beautiful…"_

"_Ye're so strong an' wonderful, Bandy, I love you, oh, I love you… Say that ye love me!"_

"'_course I loves ye, Rowan, always will!"_

_Sweet words indeed, words any of the soldiers with the fortune of having a cooperative female in their arms tonight probably whispered into their ears, words necessary to keep them under the carnal spell and enjoy their hidden treasures. Bandon would say them over and over as long as it allowed him to keep Rowan in his embrace, releasing his lusts and desires on her. Their moans filled the cottage as their entwined bodies moved in concert, edging toward the crescendo of their mutual pleasure..._

_And then it was all broken as an infant's wailing drowned out the sounds of their passion. _

_The two stoats stopped moving as the cries reached their ears. Rowan pushed Bandon off of her as she quickly pulled on her dress and went to the corner of the cottage where she had strung up a sheet. Bandon was left on the bed, panting, sweaty and horribly frustrated. Hellgates, he had been so close! _

_Rowan pushed the sheet aside and lifted up her crying son in her arms. She gently hushed and stroked him in an attempt to soothe the babe, who seemed no more than a season old, at most. _

"_Y' never said y' had a young 'un here!" Bandon barked at the stoat mother. _

"_I-I'm sorry," she responded apologetically. "I tried t' ask one o' me friends earlier today if she could take care o' 'im, but it just weren't possible. He's usually such a sound sleeper, I 'oped 'ee would stay quiet while we were together." _

_She looked at her lover, nodding in disapproval to his lower portions. "Couldja please cover yerself up when ye're like that in front o' me son."_

_Looking down, he understood what she meant. He felt embarrassed and rejected, and suddenly didn't want to be here any longer. He rose from the bed and started to get dressed, glad he'd brought along his trousers as part of his uniform for this particular campaign; it wouldn't do to walk out uncovered among the troops in the state he was in now. _

"_Wait, don't go!" Rowan implored. "I'll just put lil' Arnulf t' sleep agin, an' we can pick up our fun elsewhere. There's a cozy li'l wooded glen nearby…"_

"_Look, I don't wanna do it out in th' cold like some enlisted beast, an' even if I did, this's just killed my mood completely. I'm leavin'."_

"_But Bandon, when… when are y' comin' back?"_

_He gave her a cold and unsympathetic look. "Wasn't plannin' to. Y' got yer whelp there fer company."_

"_But… y' said y' loved me."_

_Bandon groaned inwardly. _By Dark Forest, is she going to start with that now?!_ Didn't they ever get it? He had always chosen to believe that the maidens so easily charmed by the pleasantries of the soldiers passing through their homes took it as a sort of romantic sport - that they were astute enough to see it as the night's entertainment that is was, with no obligations past the morning after, possibly in return for some kind of payment or returned favor, but mostly just for the companionship. But some unwisely attached greater meaning to these liaisons, and this wasn't the first time he'd encountered some female with a broken heart after discovering he had no intention of ever seeing her again. He hated having to go through this. _

"_Rowan, ye're a nice gel, but do y' really think I'd be fallin' in love with ye in under an hour, or abandon me captainhood t' spend me life with you? I got serious responserbilities - places I need t' be, orders t' carry out, soldiers under me who look t' me fer leadership - an' last thing I need's some lonely stoatmum leavin' me unsatisfied while she tends to th' brat she never told me she had, an' then tryin' t' pull at my heartstrings t' make me sorrowful 'bout it."_

_Rowan stared at him in shocked disbelief - not over what he'd said but by how bluntly and uncaringly he'd said it - and her eyes started filling with tears. "Ye're jus' like Jakub…"_

"_Huh? Who's that?" Not that Bandon really cared._

"_Arnulf's father. 'ee were a soldier to yer badger master too, passed thru 'ere last winter with 'is regiment t' resupply. I felt lonely, an' 'ee were such an impressive stoat male, so we were together fer a little while 'fore 'ee hadta leave agin with 'is company. 'ee promised 'ee'd always be mine, but when he passed thru later that season an' I told 'im I were carryin' 'is child, 'ee just scowled at me an' left…"_

"_Spare me th' sob stories." Bandon dismissed her with a wave as he put on his officer's vest. "If'n you were fool enuff t' fall inta bed with two soldiers in a row not carin' 'bout th' consequences, t'ain't my fault. Whaddya think we're 'ere for? Sure ain't t' take wives, or raise families. And just so y' know, we're out riskin' our tails fer you civilian beasts ev'ry day. If'n 'adn't been fer us, those wildcats we've shed our blood t' defeat would've rampaged o'er this liddle hamlet by now, prob'ly violatin' you an' dashin' yer brat t' pieces against th' nearest rocks." _

_Tears of disbelief, sadness and simmering rage poured down Rowan's cheeks. "An' that gives ye th' right t' come in here an' treat me an' other decent gels like yer own private wenches?!" _

_He regarded her coldly as he buttoned up the last of his vest. "You brought me here, not me," he growled at her. "At least a proper wench'd be smart enuff t' know when somebeast's just looking fer a good time." _

_Rowan's ears burned red with rage. "Git outta my home, git out now, ya bastard!" Her shouting made Arnulf, who had gone quieter since she'd picked him up, start to cry again. _

"_Heh, ye were beggin' me t' stay a moment ago," he chuckled mirthlessly, reaching down to the pouch at his belt and pulling out a few copper pieces which he tossed onto her bed. "'ere's a liddle somethin' so ye feel y' haven't been wastin' yer time!" Then he picked up his sword – the one Lord Urthblood had forged for him when he became captain a few seasons ago – and without another look at Rowan opened the door to her hovel and strode out into the night. _

_He'd only gone a few paces before he heard the creak of the door behind him. Bandon turned to find Rowan hurling the copper pieces at his face, and the stoat captain raised his arms to protect himself from the hail of tiny metal discs. "Keep yer fuckin' coppers!" the stoat lass screamed at him, her eyes red with both tears and rage, before turning back to her cottage and slamming the door behind her, her child's cries echoing faintly from within. _

_Gathering himself after this mild assault, Bandon stood torn for a moment as to whether to retrieve his coppers or not, hesitant to stoop to such a pathetic display. In the end, frugality won out over pride, and he knelt to pick up each piece and replace it in his pouch. Rising and turning to head back to the tavern, he found himself facing a small group of rats who just happened to be passing by then. No rats dwelt in this village, so unless any of Urthblood's rodents could find females adventurous enough to cross species lines for romantic purposes, they'd all just have to keep to their own company that night. And now these skintails had seen him in his most humiliating moment!_

_Well, maybe not his most humiliating moment - that had occurred earlier, blessedly behind closed doors where only a cast-off stoatmum and her squalling brat had witnessed it. But groveling in the dirt to retrieve his scattered trinkets was nearly as bad. _

_As he plodded past them, the rodents regarding him with uncertainly, he thought he saw one of them smirking at him. Maybe he had just imagined it, but the perceived insult drew an immediate response. "What're you lookin' at?!" Bandon growled angrily at the rat before dealing out a hard smack across the offender's snout. Then he pointedly walked on while the rats stumbled back, seeing to their comrade who clutched his bleeding nose. _

_Bandon immediately regretted this rash act. He had no cause to abuse a common soldier like that, and the rat hadn't even been his direct subordinate. Only his standing as captain had likely dissuaded the struck rat's fellows from piling on Bandon in retaliation. He would have to apologize to Captain Ferdus later. But right then, he was just too angry to entertain such a thing. Angry, frustrated, embarrassed and, though he tried to suppress it, ashamed of himself that somebeast who hadn't even been part of his scene with Rowan had just had to suffer for it. _

_This night should not have turned out like this. He'd just participated in the final defeat of the wildcats, he'd protected the lands from death and oppression and Hellgates, he deserved better than this!_

_Truly, this had not been one of his finer moments as a captain…_

* * *

"Bandon?"

Mykola's inquiry shook the stoat from his memories. "Oh, sorry, me mind wandered there fer a moment. What were ye sayin'?"

"Well, I was finished with my point, really. I just mean that while it may be comforting to find a female who'll keep you company after a rough battle, you may leave a lot of broken hearts and fatherless orphans behind. And personally, I just don't think it's worth it."

Bandon merely gave a distracted nod toward the fox, before looking towards the ground, lost in painful ruminations. He looked miserable enough that Mykola quickly moved to reassure him. "Bandon, I didn't mean this as a condemnation of you in any way, or of anybeast else. Whatever you've done or whomever you've been with, I'm sure you felt you had to, in order to carry out your other duties properly. I was just explaining why I personally have chosen not to involve myself in such pursuits."

"Aye… aye," Bandon said softly, "ye always were th' morally upstandin' one…"

Mykola was unsure how to take this statement or the tone in which it was delivered, but before he could inquire further, Bandon motioned toward the newly-erected obelisk. "Ought we pay our respects t' Liam together?"

"Yes, I'd like that," the fox replied. "I'd be deeply honoured if you would share the moment with me."

Helping the stoat to his feet, Mykola walked Bandon down to the obsidian stone monument, which stood about as tall as Lord Urthblood himself. Each of the four sides was neatly inscribed with names of rats who'd died that fateful day, more than a hundred in total. The names of Cermak and Lorsch appeared one above the other on the southern face of the obelisk, set apart from the rank and file and in larger lettering – an honour each of the battle's fallen captains would receive in addition to their own separate graves. The common soldier rats were listed in alphabetical order, going from the southern to the western face. On the northern side, just near the top, they found Liam's.

Fox and stoat stood in silence before the monument for some time, gazing at the elaborate tombstone bearing the names of the dead, the only memory the world would likely have of them. Mykola thought about Liam, of course, and of the comrades lost in the senseless slaughter by the mad Badger Lord and his hares. Bandon did the same, and he also thought of his own future, and of his past… of all the things he'd done that he was far from proud of.

Then Mykola broke the silence and recited part of a poem that he had picked up during his travels:

"We strove so hard, and gave so much

For the promise of the great new world,

Here we were bloodily baptized

As 'neath the clear blue sky it unfurled

Now we stand in triumph

As the fires are long gone

On our faces we bear customary pride

In our hearts the pain lingers on

We have nought to do but soldier on

No time to grieve or make amends

Only the ghosts drifting behind our eyes

Of fallen foes and absent friends."

* * *

_Yes, like I said in the last chapter, things really took a turn for the mature here. Hopefully not enough to earn an "M" rating, but enough that it might've discomfited some of you. I hope I still kept it somewhat tasteful – Wing had to help me out a bit here – and that the themes of the chapter still get through. I should mention that the main inspiration for the flashback sequence came from the scene in "Deer Hunter" with the Vietnamese hooker, and from the graphic novel "Watchmen", where Rorschach has a flashback of his own to his childhood with his prostitute mother._

_This flashback, and the one to come in the next chapter, is meant to stand in contrast to the previous ones: where they showed Bandon in his finest moments, these are meant to show him at his worst, and that while he is a fine captain he hasn't always been that good of a beast. Don't worry: they're meant to be part of his character arc and give him motivation to go on and develop. _

_I actually had to come up with that poem at the end on a quick notice. It is my first attempt as such in any of my stories, so I apologize if it comes across as crude. It's partly based on the lyrics to "Goodbye Blue Sky", another reference to Pink Floyd. Mykola's mention of Mina was an opportunity for me to explain how things have been going between the two since the Wolfrum story (answer: not good). This was originally meant to be in chapter 4, where the squirrel princess is part of Urthblood's entourage to give Bandon his discharge, but Wing pointed out that she was in bed with her own wound at the time so it got placed here instead. _

_Once again, I should warn you that the next chapter will be quite mature in tone at times, though in a different way from this one. Let's just say that if you're not a fan of Urthblood, the next part of this story won't make him more popular with you…_


	8. Chapter 8

"Nay, Bandy you'm be swingen et too gurtly. You'm gotta move et loik you'm still 'ave yore leg."

"Umf, why do we hafta walk around out here on th' cliffs instead of down by th' beach?" Bandon asked.

"Hurr, you'm doan't be expecten to walk abowt on smooth, even zurrfaces all ee loife, do ee, zurr?" Ansgar responded. "This'll 'elp ee grow accustermed to yore new leg loik et's a part of ee."

The stoat and the mole made their way along the lower slopes of Salamandastron facing the sea, a hundred paces or so above where the waves gently rolled in on the beach. It was mid-morning and they walked in shadow, the sun having yet to clear the summit of the flat-topped mountain. Down at the shoreline, Saybrook's otters were fully occupied with their fishing trips to help prepare lunch for the hundreds of beasts still stationed in the Badger Lord's home. Bandon struggled along with his paw on Ansgar's shoulder, who supported his larger companion while carrying the stoat's crutch.

Nearly half a season had passed since the battle, summer wearing on and slowly shifting to the first days of autumn. The days had grown slightly cooler, the brisk offshore breezes hinting at greater changes to come, and the sun rose just a little later each morning, but it was still warm and bright enough for Bandon to enjoy the outdoors with his mole friend. This wasn't just an idle stroll, however, but a way for Bandon to get acquainted with the extension of himself he would likely bear with him for the rest of his days.

Today was the first time he was trying out his wooden leg.

Two days earlier, once the foxes had examined Bandon's stump to ensure it was healed enough to handle the pressure of his full weight, they took careful measurements of it and instructed the woodworkers at Salamandastron to follow them to their exact specifications. Yesterday evening, they presented Bandon with a sturdy, oakwood peg leg reinforced with thin copper bands, a cup for his stump and straps to secure the whole affair firmly around his leg. Slipping his truncated limb into the cup, which was padded to make it more comfortable, Bandon could immediately tell that the woodcrafters had done an excellent job. The false leg fit him like a glove! Crossing the straps from the top of the cup and snapping them onto his waistband as instructed, he stood up on his new limb shakily, Sappakit supporting him. The fox led him around the room a few times on the wooden leg, Bandon marvelling at the feeling of actually being able to walk around on two feet again, even if one of them was a stiff peg, unyielding as any crutch or cane, that would take some getting used to.

However, it had been too late to try it out further that night, so the foxes gave him permission to walk around with it outside the next day, under supervision. Bandon had encountered Ansgar earlier that morning, and the mole readily volunteered to accompany the former captain on his first proper walk with the replacement leg. Now Bandon found himself traversing, rather clumsily, the seaward-facing cliffs of Salamandastron, with Ansgar gamely helping him along.

During their excursion, Bandon once more felt those annoying phantom pains coming upon him. He motioned for the two of them to sit down on an outcropping.

"Hurr, ee pains be botheren ee again, zurr?" Ansgar asked.

"Aye, but it ain't nothin' t' worry 'bout... It'll pass by itself soon…"

Allowing the sharp ache to pass, the stoat breathed deeply and kneaded his leg above the peg's cup. "I could swear t'were the peg that hurt…"

"Hurr, 'tis strange 'ow nature works, boi okey."

"Still, I'm mighty grateful, finally bein' able t' walk around on me own, more or less. Sure am lucky Lord Urthblood had beasts in his service who're so skilled at making these things. But then I guess he'd hafta, given how often they're needed."

"Burr hurr, moi own moler friends 'elped craft ee pegger thurr. Oi looked in on 'em once or twoice whoile they'm wurr carven 'n' fitten et."

"Really? Then I'll hafta make sure t' pay 'em a visit an' give 'em my thanks sometime."

"Oi reckern they'd gurtly 'preciate et."

Down on the beach, one of the otters emerged from the water hauling a large net of clams. He spotted the duo sitting on the rocky slopes and waved at them with a knowing grin. Ansgar waved back with a decidedly nervous air about him.

"What's th' matter, Ansgar matey?" the stoat asked.

"Urm, well… oi been bettin' with yon h'otter wether oi dare goo furr a swim in ee woide open h'ocean?"

Bandon's eyes went wide. "What, th' sea? Can ye even swim?"

"Ho yuss, serpintly oi c'n swim!" Ansgar said, somewhat affronted. "You'm be thinken uz molers keep en ee dark, unnerground tunnels all ee toime?"

"Uh, no, it's just that that's an odd skill fer yer kind t' possess, from what I've known. Don't think I've ever heard of a mole what could swim afore."

"Burr hurr, et be true most of uz molers bain't 'xactly swimmen creeturs on par with ee h'otterfolk, but et doan't mean uz can't lurn if'n uz put ee moinds to et."

"Where did ye learn it?"

"Hurr, t'wurr a gennel stream boi me 'ome village, whurr ee local otters wudd goo for fish. Oi watched 'em a gurt many toimes when oi wurr likkle, amazed boi 'ow agoile 'n' carefree they'm be in ee watter. One day ee Skipper arsked oi if'n oi'd loike t' lurn 'ow t' swim. Aye, said oi, tho' oi be'd a tad nervous. Took to et loike a fish, oi did, or mebbe a stout 'n' furry fish's more loike et. Soon oi be'd reggurly 'elpen 'em out whoile they'd be fishin' an' shrimpin'. Oi be'd nowhurr near as gudd as ee otterfolk, o' 'course, but still ee best mole swimmur in all ee village. Moi pater 'n' mater t'wurn't 'xactly thrilled boi moi wattery exploits – t'wurn't proper moler conduct – but in ee end, t'wurr naught they'm cudd do but allow oi t' swim all oi wanted."

Bandon nodded, genuinely interested in knowing such a thing about his new friend. "So why're ye so scared o' takin' these otters up on their bet then?"

The mole looked at him demurely. "Burr hurr, Maister Bandy, thurr be's a gurt diff'rence 'tween moi measly 'ome stream an' that gurt, boundless expanse o' watter. Frum wot oi 'eard, even Winokur 'imself t'wurr afeared o' dippen 'is rudder inta et when ee furst saw et, an' ee wurr as true an otter as anybeast."

"Yeah, I unnerstand what y' mean…" Gazing out at that unending plain of ocean stretching clear to the horizon, and recalling all the stories he'd heard over the seasons about some of the monsters that dwelt beneath those waves, Bandon could easily sympathize with the mole's fear.

"Still," Ansgar went on, "oi've 'eard ee unnerwatter wurld's a gurt byooty to be'old. Our otters yurr told oi 'bout gurt clammers, glowen jelly-loike creetures, ocean forrests an' fish ee soize o' ships…"

"Not t' mention giant iron fish with searats in 'em," Bandon added sardonically.

"Bo hurr, ee unnerwatter boats! Ne'er wudda imagerned anybeast cudd build an' poilot summat loike that."

"An' t' think, we've now got one of 'em in our possession!" The stoat smiled triumphantly, thinking about the underwater searat craft Lord Urthblood had captured during the journey to Salamandastron. "We'll be studyin' it, copyin' its design - we might even make more of our very own. That'd be sweet justice, letting Tratton face a fleet o' those underwater boats he'd planned on usin' t' enslave th' lands unner 'is rule!"

Ansgar didn't display quite as much exuberance at this prospect. "T'wurnt that whurr Lord Urthblood had ee ratters execyooted, ee crew of ee boat?"

Bandon looked at him. "Well, sure, but there really weren't much else we coulda done with 'em, was there? I mean, we couldn't drag 'em all th' way to th' coastlands with us, nor let 'em loose agin. Evil beasts, they was, havin' just kidnapped Log-a-Log's son an' other youngsters fer a 'orrible life as slaves, so they really got what they deserved. Only other thing we coulda done was turn 'em over to th' Guosim, an' I wager they'd have fared no better that way."

"May'aps so, but et still makes oi queasy…"

"Ye're soundin' a bit like Mykola there."

The mole remained adamant. "Burr, oi'll take that as ee complement. An' thurr's moar too. Oi 'eard 'is Lordship kept uz wuddlanders quoite furr frum whurr ee ratters wurr slain, 'cuz ee planned on 'interrigatin'' 'em furst an' ee wurr afeared Wink an' 'is pater moight be shocked at what wurr done to 'em."

Ansgar's new line of conversation made the stoat quite uncomfortable himself. "Well, yes, he might've done that…"

"Whurr ee thurr, Bandy? Did you'm be see'en et at all?"

"Um, nay, but 'ee did ask me t' select some o' me stoats fer th' job. Sent 'em away t' do what they hadta, an' they returned th' morning after, mighty tired an' lookin' like they'd seen something they'd rather not have."

The mole looked at him askance for a few moments. "Bandon… 'ave ee done suchloike yurrself often in ee past?"

Bandon didn't answer right away. He just swallowed nervously, as a distant memory that he'd tried to keep from haunting him for seasons now clawed its way back up to the forefront of his consciousness.

"Not fer some time, matey," he said at last. "I've… specifically asked not t' be assigned any such detail. Ever since… this one time…"

* * *

_Tarik was an evil beast. A slaver, a sadist, a murderer, and an abductor of youngbeasts, who thoroughly enjoyed all the misery he and his fellow crew wrought upon the lands. Urthblood had declared this to be so after Tarik's capture, having stared into the searat's eyes and plumbed the depths of his vile soul, so the badger would know this villain's depravity better than anybeast. Tarik was an irredeemable, thoroughly black-hearted creature, of that there could be no doubt, and deserved all that he had suffered at the paws of Urthblood's fighters, and all that was about to happen to him now._

_But despite all of that - in spite of being assured just what manner of creature they were dealing with - Bandon couldn't help but feel a small stab of pity for him as Tarik was dragged along to whatever fate awaited him in the dark cellar. Nor could Bandon help feeling, although he'd never dare admit it, a touch of admiration for the searat's show of fortitude these past two days. _

_It had all started when Tarik's rats landed on the shores of Antimon Greenwich's domain. The otter lord's family had ruled these parts for generations, overseeing a number of otter, shrew and mole communities connected by twin rivers flowing out to the Western Sea. Antimon's realm was not insignificant, and he commanded some very fine warriors. Lord Urthblood had long sought to ally himself with Antimon, and add the otter lord's strength to his growing army, but Antimon and most of the beasts under his rule had shown little enthusiasm over such a proposal. They'd suffered greatly at the paws of vermin over the seasons, and harbored grave doubts that such creatures could ever be turned around and made to serve the cause of good. Even the Wildcat Wars, towards which Antimon had lent a number of troops to aid the Badger Lord's forces, had proven insufficient to bring these woodlanders around to Urthblood's view and lead them to swear allegiance to his cause. _

_But that changed when Antimon's son Cori was kidnapped by the searats two days ago. The corsair vermin happened to make landfall on the otter lord's domains just as Urthblood and a contingent of his forces, which included Bandon and some of his stoats, were engaged in negotiations with Antimon about whether the badger's troops would be given free passage through these lands in the future. Cori was seized when he travelled to a coastal settlement to visit some relatives, and was taken captive along with a few of his friends from Antimon's court and beasts from several nearby homesteads. Most likely they'd been brought aboard a searat galley docked within some hidden cove or else hidden along one of the large rivers further inland. _

_This terrible news reached Antimon via a shrew who'd managed to escape. Urthblood immediately promised the devastated otter that he'd deliver Cori and the other kidnapped beasts from the searat's vile claws, and set right to organizing search parties to scout out the rats and the ship or ships they'd arrived on. The Badger Lord even engaged the services of his falcon captain Klystra, who could survey far and wide from high in the air. Antimon swore that if his son was safely recovered, the badger would earn his eternal gratitude, and Antimon would gladly count him as his ally. _

_Halfway through their first day of searching, a Gawtrybe party happened upon a group of the seavermin. Most were slain, leaving only their leader Tarik alive. Brought back to Urthblood's encampment by the small stone keep that served as Antimon's home, the badger gazed deeply into the rat's eyes and determined that Tarik did indeed know where Cori had been taken. Unless one of the other search parties discovered the location on their own, the captured rat held the key to recovering the abducted creatures and securing the alliance with Antimon. Tarik was taken to a nearby glade, far enough removed from the otter's settlement to spare the woodlanders any unpleasant sights and sounds, and Urthblood's troops set right to the task of interrogating Tarik to make him reveal what he knew - a task the badger had brashly predicted shouldn't take long. _

_But it quickly became apparent that things would not be quite so simple. Tarik turned out to be unbelievably tough. For nearly two days now he'd resisted all the various forms of coercion applied to him, and still he refused to talk. For most of the first day Urthblood's inquisitors had contented themselves with relatively "light" interrogation methods, starting out with simple threats and insults, and then moving on to slaps, punches and kicks when words and bonds alone proved ineffective. In spite of all the bruises - and possibly a broken bone or two - that they'd dealt him, Tarik kept his silence. And every hour that he held his tongue, his interrogators knew, the chances of the hidden searat ships hoisting anchor and escaping with their slaves grew greater, and Cori's father more and more desperate. And so, when night fell, Urthblood declared they needed to get more creative with their methods, and instructed Bandon to summon the stoats Toth and Soryn. _

_Toth and Soryn weren't bad creatures, not really. If they were, they never would have been allowed to join Urthblood's army. Unflaggingly loyal to the Badger Lord and fully devoted to his cause, the pair were good comrades and very friendly most of the time, in addition to being highly capable soldiers. There was generally no reason to think less of them than any other of the badger's warriors._

_But the two stoats also possessed a distinct lack of qualms towards acts that would have bothered, or even shocked, most of their comrades. Urthblood called them in now upon realizing certain methods needed to be brought to bear in this situation that the current interrogators would be unable to bring themselves to do. Tarik's previous tormentors were dismissed, leaving only the pair of stoats, Bandon and Urthblood himself to extract the needed information from the unfortunate searat. _

_The plain fact was that Lord Urthblood's forces on occasion had need of more than just the upstanding, honourable and proper soldiers who made up the bulk of this army, and who were most generally presented to the goodbeasts of the Northlands as the new face of peace and security. Such a restive region would never be tamed through gentle means alone, and thus there was also a need for beasts who were willing at times to descend to the same level of brutality as their enemies, and to engage in questionable acts for the greater good when circumstances demanded. As long as they didn't let their proclivities in this direction to taint their overall behaviour, they were tolerated and called upon when the need for their skills arose. _

_The result of those skills, which Toth and Soryn had applied generously over the past day, were highly evident upon Tarik's body now as they carried him by his bound paws to the cellar. Nasty lumps and bruises studded his pelt, and fresh scars and burn marks crisscrossed his fur. His left eye was swollen shut where the stoats had beaten him so hard he'd gone blind on it, and several of the bones in his bound paws and dragging feet were broken, along with claws missing where they'd been pulled out. _

_But even after all they'd done, the searat still hadn't cracked. Time was growing short, the Badger Lord's many questing and probing eyes had still to uncover any searat vessels, and Antimon was getting more and more desperate. Urthblood decided that they needed to get their captive talking, no matter the cost, and asked the otter lord for the use of his keep's cellar for the final stage of the interrogation - for there would be no other after this. Antimon agreed, willing to let the badger do anything if it led to his son's safe return. And now, as the night sky started to brighten ever so slightly toward the first pale hint of morning, Bandon walked behind his two subordinates who carried the rat, while Urthblood led the way to the cellar doors with a haversack over his shoulder. Guards were stationed around the area to make sure none of the locals happened upon them at this… delicate moment. _

_The stoat captain did grudgingly admire Tarik for his demonstrated ability to withstand such treatment - even moreso due to the specific circumstances surrounding it. _

_The problem with torture – and there really was no point employing any softer terms to describe what Tarik had just endured – was that it was known to be a highly unreliable way to gather information from somebeast. The interrogator first had to be absolutely sure that the subject possessed the specific information sought (sometimes impossible to know with certainty ahead of time, and the subject's word on the matter could hardly be taken on faith) and then make sure that the subject didn't lie during the session. Furthermore, after being subjected to such attentions for an extended span, a beast might say anything to make the pain stop; he would admit to being the king of the moon if that was what he thought his interrogators wanted to hear. As such, any information gleaned from torture was very dubious, and to be regarded with reservations. _

_With Urthblood, however, an entire level of the uncertainty surrounding torture was removed. The badger could tell merely by looking into a beast's eyes whether it was lying or not, and as such, Tarik had no hope of tricking them about the location of the prisoners. He made sure to impress that upon the rat, to drive home the point that any attempt to resist or evade telling the truth was futile and that they would get the information they sought eventually. Which made the rodent's continued resistance all the more impressive. _

_But it was about to be broken. _

_Urthblood swung wide the slanted doors descending into the cellar and trudged down the stone stairs into the darkness, followed by Bandon and the two stoats bearing Tarik. The rat was too weak to put up any struggle, having received no food, water or sleep the last two days. The badger lit a lantern while Soryn and Toth forced their captive to kneel before their master. Bandon stood to the side, not knowing what Urthblood was planning but dreading it with every fiber of his being. _

_Then the crimson-armored badger, burnished greaves and breastplate glowing darkly in the lamplight, turned to the kneeling rodent, locking gazes with him. Urthblood was always a cold and grim beast at such times, but the look he gave Tarik now could have chilled the veins of Vulpuz himself. _

"_Now listen and listen well, Tarik," he began, his rumbling voice filling the cellar with a dreadful atmosphere. "I have given you ample opportunity to tell us what we must know. Your stubborn refusal leaves me no choice but to resort to extraordinary measures to force your cooperation." _

_He gestured toward a pair of support beams directly above them. "You see those?" he asked, reaching into the haversack to produce two short lengths of stout rope. "We are going to tie you to them, one footpaw to each beam, so that you will hang upside down with your legs apart. And between your legs - " he reached down into the sack once more, " - will be this."_

_Bandon's eyes widened in shock, Tarik gasped in terror, and even Toth and Soryn seemed visibly disturbed. _

_Out of the sack Urthblood produced a long, vicious-looking saw. _

_It was the kind of saw two woodsbeasts would use in tandem to cut through a thick tree. Holding it up before the terrified rodent in front of him, the badger rumbled on, "We will start at your crotch, slowly sawing down through your abdomen and then your chest. The pain might be particularly excruciating if the blade catches upon any stubborn bone or sinewy muscle. Keep in mind that since you will be hanging upside down, your head will receive a continuous flow of blood, so you won't be able to pass out from the pain. Trust me when I say we know how to do this without killing you right away. " _

_The description of what was about to happen terrified Bandon, and he considered himself a fairly battle-hardened beast. If it was that frightening to him, he could only imagine how it must feel to the rat about to be put under it. He silently prayed that Tarik would yield at last and tell his captors everything before they had to do something so horrible to him. _

_But even though Tarik shook and quivered, sweat running down the fur on his face, the searat hardened his expression, trying to maintain as defiant a front as he could. Perhaps he thought Urthblood was bluffing, or would do something less abominable with the wicked saw - something painful, but not so entirely nightmarish as what had just been described._

_As if to shame his captors, Tarik growled, "You do that, an' yer no better'n us!"_

_Urthblood remained preternaturally, terrifyingly calm, bringing his massive striped muzzle within a whisker's breadth of Tarik's face. "But we are different," he said. "I have heard you searats do things like this for your own amusement. We do it only when we are left no other choice."_

_Upon hearing those words, Tarik realized with heart-stopping chill that his badger nemesis meant to do exactly as he'd outlined. He might as well be in King Tratton's dungeons now; his chances at avoiding unthinkable agony would be the same there as here._

_Holding him down, they tore off the last shreds of clothing hanging from Tarik's battered and abused form. With Bandon's aid, they tied the ropes around his ankles, so tightly that the rodent screamed in pain. Then the stoat captain and Toth lifted the desperately struggling searat up off the floor, head down, while Soryn lashed the ends of the ropes around the support beams. This left Tarik hanging upside down with his paws still tied behind his back, swinging back and forth slightly as he twisted and turned. _

_Toth picked up the saw and laid its blade across the rat's perineum. Tarik went as taut as the ropes suspending him as he felt the prick of the jagged teeth on the sensitive region between his legs. Before they started however, Urthblood crouched down and grabbed the searat by his neck, lifting Tarik's head slightly so they could look into each other's eyes, in one last attempt to persuade the rodent to give up his secrets._

"_Tarik," he intoned in an impassioned, almost pleading voice, "do not force us to this. Your fortitude thus far has been impressive, to have resisted everything you've endured so far, but this will break you in the worst, most agonizing way, and leave you without even the honour of an intact corpse. I implore you to spare yourself the pain and humiliation we must inflict now, and tell us what we need to know. There is nothing noble about helping to keep innocent beasts in cruel bondage. Do the right thing now, and spare both of us what is about to happen."_

_For a moment, Tarik seemed to seriously entertain this plea, looking as if he might give in to Urthblood's urging. But then he growled at the badger and spat a glob of blood into his face. _

_Urthblood stood and wiped the bloody saliva from his face, while Soryn moved around to grab the other handle of the saw. "Very well then," the grim Badger Lord pronounced, those simple words a death sentence, and nodded for the two stoat soldiers to get to work. _

_Tarik lasted for about a minute, although it seemed like an eternity to Bandon, who forced himself to watch as his subordinates performed their bloody task, to the sickening sound of the saw cutting through flesh and scraping against bone, and the soul-churning screams of the tortured searat. Urthblood merely looked on impassively, his face betraying no particular emotion. Finally, their captive sputtered out, his voice almost incoherent in his torment, "Stop, stop! Please! I-I know where they are! I know!"_

_Urthblood knelt again, holding up the agonized rat's head as blood flowed from the horrendous wound over Tarik's belly and chest to drip onto the floor. The badger's gaze bored into his victim's eyes to make sure no lie was uttered now. "Speak!"_

"_B-by th' northern river… 'alfway to th' sea," Tarik forced out in a voice quivering with pain and fear. "Couple o' fishin' huts ... small shipwright there… W-we 'ad informers an' spies there… ol' Tuggers workin' fer us… 'ee 'elped us ... cover up th' galley ... sayin' it were a customer in ... need o' repairs…"_

"_How long will it stay there?"_

"_U-until all ... th' squads get back… They'll be findin' out ... that you an' yer army's 'ere soon ... an' then they'll ... set back t' sea…"_

_Urthblood studied the rat's face for a moment, searching for any trace of deception. Then he merely stated, as if out of idle curiosity, "And you made us put you through all of this to hide that information…"_

"_K-kill me!" Tarik gasped through gritted teeth. "Kill ... me…" _

_The badger nodded coldly and produced a dagger. In an effortless, almost casual motion, he drew the blade across his doomed captive's throat, slicing it wide open. In spite of himself, Bandon glanced away as the rat spasmed and convulsed and then went limp in his bonds, looking like some seabird's carcass strung up for butchery. _

_Toth and Soryn worked the blood-soaked saw out of Tarik's midsection, producing further sickening sounds in the process. Toth used the badger's knife to cut the ropes, letting the searat's partially-bifurcated body fall to the floor while Soryn absently ran his pawtip across the teeth of the saw. "Ugh, I think we shoulda sharpened et 'fore we started…" _

_Urthblood withdrew a large sheet from the sack. "Let him bleed out a bit more, then wrap the body in this. I'll have some of the troops dig a grave and call for you when they're finished. Carry him out and bury him as quickly as you can – I don't wish to trouble the local beasts with this sight. None of us need speak of what happened down here."_

_The gathered stoats all nodded their understanding and compliance. _

_The badger turned to his captain. "Bandon, assemble a raiding party at once to track down the corsair ship. With the information Tarik provided us, it should not prove too great a challenge. They might pull anchor at any moment, so we must move quickly."_

"_Y-yes, sir," Bandon nodded, unable to keep the stammer out of his voice. Leaving his subordinates to their gruesome task, he followed his master up the stairs and into the cool early morning outside. _

_Bandon managed to maintain his captain's composure about halfway to the camp where most of the soldiers were gathered. Then, hoping no soldierbeasts were around to see him, he leaned against a tree and vomited, his whole body shaking as his mind reeled with the images of the session he'd just witnessed - and participated in. _

_As he finished retching, he felt Urthblood place a surprisingly gentle paw on his shoulder. "Are you well, Captain?" the badger inquired in a voice that almost seemed friendly and concerned. _

"_I-I'm fine," he answered as he wiped his mouth with his paw. "T'were just… a bit too much fer me, what 'appened back there…"_

_Urthblood studied him, his face inscrutable. "It bothered you, what I had to do to that rat?"_

"_Uh, no!" the stoat quickly answered. "I mean, mebbe a little, but then, it ain't often we hafta do somethin' like that…"_

"_You must understand that desperate circumstances drove me to such measures, Captain. We were left no other choice. Time was of the utmost essence. Tarik was an evil beast who deserved his fate; if that were not true, he would not have met such an end. He sought to protect his fellow kidnappers, murderers and slave-keepers, and keep us from aiding goodbeasts in need, and in so doing ensured his own agonizing doom. I will never shy from doing whatever I must to safeguard the lands from tyranny and evil."_

"_I… I understand, sir," Bandon sighed, trying to compose himself as he stood up. "But… I dunno if I'll be able t' take part in any such… interrorgations agin. Ain't sure I'm… tough enough fer it."_

"_Overseeing interrogations like this is an important part of your duties, Captain, and vital to our campaigns," Urthblood stated matter-of-factly. "I must be able to trust my officers in this capacity, for times when such measures become sadly necessary - trust in them to be present and discharge their duties of command accordingly, and to make sure the proper discretion is maintained in such matters. But, if you truly feel that this is not something to which you are suited, I will grant you leave not to attend to such interrogations in the future."_

_This gave Bandon some pause. One did not shirk one's "duties" as set out by Lord Urthblood, no matter how distasteful they might be, and especially not a beast who held the highest rank in the badger's army. But what had happened in that cellar went far beyond merely distasteful. Accepting on the spot any repercussions the decision might hold for him, Bandon said, "Thank you, M' Lord. I would 'preciate it if'n I could be relieved o' that duty from now on."_

_Urthblood nodded and motioned for Bandon to follow him to the camp. As they walked, he turned to the stoat. "You may also choose to look at it this way: given all the terrible things Tarik had done in his life, perhaps his suffering at our paws was part of his penance - a way for him to wipe the slate clean, in some small way, and let him enter Dark Forest with some of the burdens of all his misdeeds lifted from his shoulders. If such is the case, we may even have performed him an act of mercy."_

_Such speculation startled Bandon; it was a notion that never would have occurred to the stoat captain. "Do ... do you really think so, M' Lord?"_

_Urthblood neither shrugged nor nodded. "I may possess formidable powers of prophecy, Captain, but some things remain hidden even from me. Someday, perhaps, we will all know."_

_Bandon mulled that over. He had never been certain whether Dark Forest truly existed, or how beasts might be judged for their actions in this world when they passed to the next. But if it did, and what Urthblood said was true… then yes, just maybe they had performed Tarik a small mercy. Somebeasts might have called it a perverse sense of mercy, but then, life was complicated and strange - especially life under a prophetic Badger Lord. And if such ruminations and speculations served as a balm to his blistered conscience over their treatment of Tarik, so much the better…_

* * *

It had all been for naught in the end. Despite Lord Urthblood's confidence in his ability to capitalize on this gruesomely-gained intelligence, Tarik's stubbornness had bought the searat's comrades enough time to escape. When the Badger Lord's forces reached the shipwright, they found that the galley had already left; the seavermin's collaborator, the old hedgehog Tugger, was duly bustled inland for further interrogation before he was ultimately beheaded for his part in these crimes. Urthblood, commandeering several boats from Tugger's yards, had followed the river to sea as quickly as he could, but by the time his small fleet arrived at the mouth of the river, the searat ship was just visible on the horizon, far beyond their ability to catch. The kidnappers had gotten away with their captives, who would now be forced to live the rest of their lives in Tratton's mills, fields or mines.

Antimon had been outraged. Overcome with grief and torment at the loss of his son, he blamed Urthblood for the entire thing, declaring the badger warrior incompetent for his inability to find the galley in time, and attributing Urthblood's larger struggle with Tratton as the reason searats had entered his domain at all. Urthblood insisted that he'd done everything he possibly could, resorting to some very extreme lengths to recover Cori and the other slaves, and pointed out that seavermin had plagued these shores long before his present conflict with the corsair king. These assurances in his own defense only served to further infuriate the distraught otter lord, Urthblood's implacable calm and righteousness like sand in Antimon's open wounds. In the end, the furious otter ordered Urthblood off his lands, all hopes of an alliance between them crushed.

As Urthblood had enjoined, not a word was spoken of what had been done to Tarik down in the cellars. While the badger's followers generally understood that drastic measures were sometimes required to loosen the tongues of enemy prisoners, the unsavoury details were seldom openly acknowledged or dwelt upon. That left Bandon carrying these memories with him during all the seasons since, unable to lighten his heart about it to anybeast. He'd told himself over and over that the torture of Tarik had been necessary, that he'd simply been following orders, and that the responsibility rested with Lord Urthblood, whose prophetic vision must always be deferred to as the ultimate guide in such situations. But the memories of that night had always tormented Bandon nonetheless.

"Bandy zurr?"

Bandon looked at the young mole by his side, who'd been surprised by the silence the stoat had maintained for several long moments now, lost in the hideous remembrances of that day. It struck Bandon, in spite of what Ansgar had suffered recently in terms of losing a close friend and having to help clean up the mountainside after the battle, just how innocent the diggerbeast still was about the ways of the world. Innocent about just what their sworn master was capable of, and what his dedicated underlings - including the retired stoat himself - was capable of. And Bandon couldn't help but envy such innocence.

And he did not want to soil that innocence by explaining to Ansgar just what it was that had given him such pause. It wasn't only his implied vow of silence over the incident to his former Lord, but also the desire to spare his mole friend from knowledge of what this army was sometimes forced to do. For all the terrible deeds Urthblood sometimes engaged in, Bandon still regarded that badger as the saviour of the lands, and he wanted Ansgar to do the same.

At the same time, Bandon was torn between trying to explain all this in order to prepare the mole and gird him against possible disillusionment down the road, or leaving Ansgar to discover such things in his own time, if he ever did. Helping him to understand them now might spare him a moral dilemma later on, and he did not want the kind mole to suffer anguish or doubt over what kind of master he served. Then again, Urthblood's moles were typically kept well apart from the darker aspects of service in the badger's army, and sharing this kind of information with Ansgar might prove both unnecessary and harmful.

In the end, he decided to hold his tongue on the matter. If he'd been unable to work out all these issues for himself over the seasons, what was the use of trying to work them out for Ansgar, or burdening the mole with a weight he might prove ill-prepared to take on? Instead, as he'd done so often this past season, he opted to stick with expressing his concerns over his more immediate situation.

"Ansgar…" he said after long moments of careful and deliberate thought, "remember how, when I just found out 'bout me lost leg, I said I wished I could've died along with me troops out on th' mountain slopes?"

Ansgar nodded, uncertain of what the stoat was getting at.

"Well," Bandon said with a tired sigh, "I recently felt that wish again. But this time, t'was because… sometimes I feel I don't deserve t' live…"

"Nay, Bandon zurr!" the mole called at him. "Doan't you'm be sayen suchloik! Uz already talked abowt ee fyooture – 'ow a gudd loife cudd still be furr ee... "

"That ain't what I meant. I mean it's unfair that so many noble, kindhearted, good creatures died that day while somebeast like me survived…"

The mole looked at him as if he didn't understand, so Bandon went on. "Ansgar, I ain't been a very good creature throughout me life. Not just when I travelled with that robber gang, but even after I joined Lord Urthblood's army an' became a captain. I've done things that've shamed me deeply, that would shame anybeast. I've treated th' females I've been with like they was jus' there fer th' takin' and didn't have feelin's of their own… I've hurt beasts, physically too… I've taken part in things that might shock an innocent creature like you, Ansgar. Some o' what I did I thought was fer th' good of all, but there's times I wonder whether t'was just more convenient t' think like that…"

He lowered his head in shame. "When I swore my captain's oath t' Lord Urthblood, I promised him I'd leave my bad old ways behind me, jus' like ev'ry vermin recruit o' his, an' that I'd raise m'self up an' try t' be a true example to my troops. A true goodbeast. But I never lived up t' that vow. I never truly put my evil past behind me. I just kept it better hid, an' let it slip back when I was sure t' get away with it. That's somethin' I never dared dwell on before - learnin' th' ways o' this army, an' then commandin' up to a hunnerd beasts in battle after I was made captain, kept me too busy. But now that I got lotsa time t' reflect an' think on it, I see things fer what they are. When I first awoke after th' battle, I felt I'd never be able t' live as good a life as I had b'fore. Now I feel I don't deserve any kind o' good life t'all…"

For many long moments, the former stoat captain and newly-recruited diggerbeast just sat together in silence, neither able to say a word. Down by the sea, the otters were playfully catching seafood, oblivious to the dark mood between the two beasts on the shore.

Then Ansgar thought of something. "Well… ought that not be another reason for ee to live?"

"Whaddya mean?" the stoat asked.

"Oi mean," the mole replied, and it was clear he strove to restrain his usual accent to make himself as understandable as possible, "if you'm feel ee've done many bad things in ee loife, what use be et to anybeast if'n ee were to jump into ee sea an' drown? Whoi not spend ee loif atoning for 'em, boi 'elping others an' changin' ee bad old ways? Bain't ne'er too late for et. This's whoi ee c'n choose to goo on, in spoite o' ev'rything ee've 'ad 'appen to ee: not just to enjoy a loife outside ee army, but to make oop for ee past mistakes."

Bandon mulled this over. "Mebbe I could… But what if I ain't able t' overcome my own failin's? What if I can't improve myself, just as I've failed t' do all these past seasons?"

Ansgar gave him a deep, meaningful look. "Oi've known ee for 'alf a season noaw, an' oi bain't ne'er seen ee as ought but a goodbeast. Oi unnerstand ee moight 'ave dark deeds in ee past 'n' flaws in ee character, but surely they'm carn't drag down ee gudd stoater oi've seen e'er since ee battle?

"Amember, you'm been a foighting beast all ee loife. That means ee've 'adta perform unpleasant tasks, boi order or boi necessity, and ee rigours an' 'ardships may've brought out ee worst in ee. But if'n you'm c'n lead a peaceful, quoiet loife in ee North, surrounded boi beasts willin' to help ee, that c'n 'elp ee grow an' improve. Think 'ow much you'm growed just this season, Bandy, when ee've 'ad toime to reflect on ee past. That ee've been able t' do et at all serpintly shows ee can cumm t' terms with ee faults. T'was foolish of ee t' think there wurr no loife a'ead of ee when you'm woke up arfter ee battle, an' t'would be even more foolish noaw, arfter how far ee've cumm."

He reached out for the stoat's paw. While Bandon would at one time have shied away from engaging in such an open sentimental display, now he didn't hesitate to let the mole's digging claw enfold his own.

"You'm do deserve a better loife, Bandon. Ev'rybeast does, long's they stroive to be gudd creeturs. Let this be an opportunity for ee to prove to yurrself that ee do. Mikky an' oi'll 'elp ee along as long as uz'll remain 'ere at ee mountain, an' even after we'm be parten ways, thurr'll allers be others that'll do loikwoise. Oi know thurr'll be…"

For a moment, Bandon was overcome with sadness at the realization that he and Ansgar wouldn't be together for much longer. He'd come to treasure the mole's company so much during his convalescence that it would be hard to say goodbye when the time came. He had so much to be grateful for to the young diggerbeast who'd buoyed his spirits since the battle and helped keep his dark moods at bay. Especially now that Ansgar had helped convince him, for a second time, that Bandon still had a future left worth striving for when his heart felt so heavy.

"Thank you, Ansgar mate," he smiled at his companion. "Ye've truly become my best friend this past half season. You've no idea how much what you just said means t' me. I'm gonna miss ye once I head back to th' North, more'n I can say."

"Aww, noaw you'm just bein' sentermental," the mole chuckled, returning more fully to his customary accent. "But… oi'll miss ee too."

Then Ansgar looked to the sea, toward the fishing otters. "An' speakin' of overcummen pers'nal shortcummens…" he said as he started undressing, pulling off his shirt and baggy pants. Standing unclad before Bandon, his velvety brown fur shining in the sun, he turned to the stoat. "If'n oi doan't actshully jump in ee watter an' swim noaw, will ee promise to take moi clothes an' not return 'em to oi furr ee rest of ee day?"

It was certainly an unusual request, but Bandon accepted it with a grin, knowing it would spur the mole to conquer his fears. Then Ansgar ran down across the rocks and over the beach, pausing a bit uncertainly at the spot where the sand met the gently rolling waves before splashing through the shallows with a cry and plunging beneath the surface to the cheers of the otters looking on.

As Bandon watched the mole swim to the otters, the rounded little body beneath the surface a comical contrast to the sleek, athletic outlines of the waterbeasts, the stoat wondered if Ansgar's encouragement to him here was at all similar to how Liam had persuaded Mykola to stay true to the fox's core principles after the tragedy at Redwall. If the lame swordsbeast had felt half as bad as Bandon had just now, and the compassionate sergeant rat had still managed to positively sway Mykola, then maybe there was hope for him as well. Bandon had struggled back from the brink of despair after finding out he'd lost a leg; surely he could do the same after reliving his past misdeeds?

He'd often wondered these days what he would do once he returned to the Northlands as a cripple. Now he knew, and that knowledge filled him hope and determination to carve out a new life for himself.

* * *

_I'm really sorry about the time it has taken to post this chapter. It should've been up earlier, but towards the end I came down with a bad case of Writer's Block. I'm grateful for your patience._

_Well, like I warned last time, this is a pretty dark chapter – or at least, the flashback is. It's probably the darkest one I've written. This chapter, along with the last one, is the one that makes me worried about whether this should be rated M or not. Feedback on the matter would be appreciated. _

_I hope it wasn't too brutal for your tastes – and I tried to keep it as restrained as I could – but I wanted the sawing scene to be shocking, to show just what Urthblood is capable of if circumstances demand it of him, and what Bandon has to deal with in his past. While Bandon didn't order or directly "perform" the things done here, it's still something he's taken part of, and that ought to trouble anybeast's conscience. _

_The method they use to torture Tarik is based on a supposed medieval execution method. I say "supposed" because many scholars believe it was never actually used – while there are woodprints depicting it, it might very well be of the "this is what our enemies are doing"-variety, and it would probably be too impractical a method anyway due to how the prisoner could struggle, no matter how restrained. I hope you'll pardon the creative license in this case. _

_This scene is based, as any movie buffs can probably tell, on the infamous "head-in-the-vise" scene from Scorcese's "Casino", right down to Bandon's reluctant admiration for Tarik, Urthblood's pleading to not make them do this and the rat's struggling cries to kill him. That was a terrifying scene in the film, and I hope I brought over some that atmosphere to this scene *shudder*…_

_Ansgar's swimming enthusiasm is another way for me to distinguish him from your ordinary run-of-the-mill moles. And he'd probably look cute swimming in the nude :)_

_Next time, which will hopefully be very soon, will be the last chapter. Hope to see you there! _


	9. Chapter 9

The days went by, and autumn slowly took full hold over the Coastal Plains. The lack of woodlands near Salamandastron made the shift in forest colours from green to red and yellow and orange less noticeable, but the new season asserted itself with a distinct drop in temperature, more restive ocean waves, and an increase in scattered rains and cloudy skies. The beasts working in the Long Patrol gardens made sure to harvest as much they could while more squads were sent out foraging to add to the mountain's larders. The otters came to show less enthusiasm for their daily fishing trips as the ocean waters grew steadily chillier. Everybeast did its part to ensure that the hundreds of creatures quartered in the mountain halls of the Badger Lords would be able to get through the winter without going hungry or cold.

At least they had slightly fewer mouths to feed now. By mid-autumn, Hanchett had recovered enough to embark upon the long journey to Redwall Abbey. His fellow hares had actually enjoyed good health for some time by then, but had elected to stay so that their young comrade wouldn't have to make the trip alone (and to make sure Urthblood didn't rescind his pardon at the last moment). Alexander had also elected to end his self-imposed exile from his lifelong home and accompany the hares back to the Abbey. Mina would not be joining him, however, as she was determined to remain at Salamandastron to help Urthblood prepare the stronghold against whatever threats lay in its future. The deep and loving bond shared by the two squirrels since even before the battle convinced Bandon that their heartfelt farewells and pledges of soon being reunited were genuine, and not the kind of empty words he himself had given to the stoatmaids he'd been with to get them out of his fur.

Bandon continued to practice walking with his wooden leg, helped along by Ansgar, Mykola and anybeast willing to help the former stoat captain adapt to his new life. He took quickly to his new limb, and before long he was getting around as handily as if he still possessed his flesh-and-blood leg. Those occasional phantom pains still plagued him, but they'd lessened in intensity and frequency and didn't bother him much anymore.

Come mid-autumn, he'd adapted to his new limb sufficiently that he was ready to leave. And so, on a warm and cloudless autumn morning following a night of gentle rain, Bandon found himself on the northern slope of Salamandastron, along with a motley crew of about a dozen weasels, rats and hedgehogs who lacked paws or feet, along with a mouse who'd developed uncontrollable muscle shakes from a hard kick to the head a hare had dealt him during the Long Patrol's mad charge up the mountain slopes. These were all former soldiers who, like him, had been deemed unfit for further active military service, and had been discharged and directed to places in the North where they could settle. Escorting them would be a couple of otters and still-healthy mice to serve as their guardians on the journey.

Bandon bore a backpack well-stocked with provisions, and carried a walking stick to help him along if he should encounter any terrain difficult to navigate with his peg leg. He also carried a missive from Lord Urthblood to be given to Erastos, the leader of River's End, informing him of Bandon's situation and authorizing the stoat's residency in the town.

At the moment, Bandon stood a bit apart from his fellow travellers-to-be, engaged in conversation with Mykola, who'd turned out to make his final farewells to the former captain. Their badger master was supposed to do the same, but had yet to make an appearance.

"Whaddya s'pose is keepin' 'im?" the stoat wondered.

"He didn't indicate that he'd be delayed," the fox answered, "but you know Lord Urthblood: he keeps to his own schedule for his own inscrutable purposes, and it's up to all the rest of us to adjust. He'll be out soon, don't worry. You don't think he'd miss the send-off of one of his greatest captains, do you?"

"I reckon not - not that I'd call m'self one o' his greatest. But like y' said, you can always count on 'is Lordship t' do the unexpected. Includin' when it comes t' ye foxes, 'parently. I've 'eard he's got some special assignment in mind fer ye, that he wants t' send you out to Mossflower Woods on some errand?"

"Ah yes, I've heard that too. Word is he has a special project in Mossflower involving us swordfoxes, something about establishing a base of operations for us there. Remember, his greatest concern now that his brother is dead, aside from preparing for the possibility of war with Tratton, is to expand his influence here in these southern lands. He'll need to more fully establish his presence, gather new allies, set up new outposts… I wouldn't be surprised if he wants us foxes to establish a headquarters of some sort."

"Huh… mebbe so. But I'da thought Lord Urthblood would want 'is foxes at 'is side always. Ain't ye 'is personal guard, of a sort?"

The fox smirked. "Not really, even though it may appear that way at times. But Lord Urthblood doesn't need anybeast to protect him. I think he can spare us foxes for awhile. But I admit, it will feel somewhat awkward being away from our master's side again."

For some reason, Bandon didn't think Mykola sounded quite as uncomfortable at this prospect as he claimed, but the stoat ignored it. "When will ye be sent away?" he asked.

"Not this season. It will probably be during spring, or winter at the earliest. Though I really hope it's not during the winter, because I often develop this ache in my shorter leg during –"

He let his words trail off as Bandon waved toward the mountain, and Mykola turned to see that Urthblood had at last emerged to greet his former warriors one last time before bidding them farewell. The badger was not alone; a small group of beasts followed him, soldiers who had come to say goodbye to their crippled comrades. Bandon was particularly elated to see Ansgar's little form navigate the cliffs, close to the massive badger who was more than twice the mole's height. The stoat had been disappointed to not find Ansgar waiting out here to bid him farewell, and half suspected from that that he wouldn't show up at all. He realized now how foolish he was to have ever doubted his friend's loyalty.

As the mole approached, however, Bandon noticed Ansgar shouldered what looked to be a rather well-stocked backpack, much like Bandon's own. Now why would he…?

"If I may have your attention," Urthblood called out, and all the gathered beasts, perhaps misunderstanding the badger's intent, immediately straightened and saluted, including the mouse whose paw shook as he raised it, and a rat who realized too late that his salutary paw was no longer there. It didn't occur to any of them that they technically no longer served under Urthblood and didn't have to do as he ordered anymore, even if he'd meant it to be an order; in their hearts, he was still their commander.

The badger addressed his former soldiers. "It has now been over half a season since the battle that needlessly claimed the lives of so many noble beasts, and forced others out of my service. It was with a heavy heart I gave you all your discharges, for you were all stalwart, capable and brave fighters, and I loathe ordering warriors of your calibre to give up the calling and cause to which you have so diligently dedicated yourselves. And I know that it must be even more difficult for you to accept it; some of you have served me for seasons and can now imagine no other life for yourself but that of a soldier. While it will ultimately be up to each of you to choose your new vocation, I've arranged opportunities for you in the Northlands where you can start new lives and be productive members of their communities.

"You each carry with you a letter of discharge, to be presented to the village elders of River's End upon your arrival. They have accepted beasts in your situation before, and will know how to accommodate you. You face a long and arduous journey, but the guards I am sending along with you will assist you and keep you safe from any troublemakers you might encounter – although I venture that most of you would still be able to best any brigand in a fair fight. I've also supplied them with proper raingear and waterproof tents to see you through any inclement weather."

Bandon was immensely grateful for that last addition. The memory of those awful days marching unprotected in the storm during their journey to Redwall still made him shiver.

Urthblood nodded toward the group that had followed him out onto Salamandastron's northern slopes. "I didn't think you'd want to depart without saying goodbye to your friends and comrades, so by all means take a few moments to share each others' company one last time."

The two groups intermingled and shook paws, exchanged smiles and kind words, and even embraced a few times, setting aside their usual stern soldiers' formality for this one occasion. Ansgar remained at Urthblood's side, though, and the badger gestured for his former stoat captain to come forward and join them. Bandon trotted over on his by now quite familiar wooden leg, the happy grin on his face enthusiastically returned by the mole.

"Ansgar, matey! I been waitin' so anxiously fer ye. It's wunnerful seein' ya 'gain!"

"Bo hurr, an' ee same 'ere, Bandy," the mole said, smiling warmly. "Sorry oi kept ee waitin' so long, but oi 'ad to be sure oi wurr all packed 'n' ready, cuz oi be's turrible prone to forgetten things when oi be rushen all abowt in a 'urry."

"Packed?" The stoat's confusion was plain on his face. "What fer? Ye were just comin' out t' say goodbye, weren't ye?"

"Uhm, well…" The mole looked up at Urthblood, as if suggesting that the badger could explain it better. The larger beast took him up on it.

"Yesterday, I granted Ansgar his own request to be discharged from my army," he informed Bandon. "He has elected, if you are agreeable, to accompany you back to the Northlands and dwell there with you as a companion and friend for as long as you both wish."

Having received the badger's courtesy in the matter, Ansgar looked to the stoat with an inquiring, friendly look. "Well, wudd you 'ave oi, Bandy…?"

Bandon was speechless. Ansgar had given up his service in Lord Urthblood's forces for him? They wouldn't be separated? He would still be with the friend he'd come to hold so dear ever since losing his leg…

In spite of himself, he couldn't help his eyes getting a little watery. "Ansgar, o' course I want ye t' come with me!" He leaned down and embraced the mole warmly, the slight awkwardness of having to lower the knee above the peg leg not bothering him in the slightest, nor did the unmilitary display embarrass him. There really were benefits to not being a captain anymore…

Their embrace lasted for several moments. Behind them, Mykola felt warm inside at seeing them together, strongly reminded of a similar moment he himself had shared with a close companion that summer. Urthblood remained his usual stony self, but a certain reverent air about him suggested that he appreciated the emotions of the occasion, even if he was not actually moved by it personally.

"When did ye decide on this?" Bandon asked the mole as the two finally drew apart.

"T'weren't long arfter ee furst day ee troied out ee new leg. Arfter ev'rything uz talked abowt - abowt what ee shudd do with ee loife when ee headed back oop North - oi promised ee thurr'd allers be beasts thurr to support ee an' 'elp ee along. Arfterward, oi thought if'n anybeast shudd do et, et oughtta be oi. 'Soides that, oi ... oi just cuddn't bear ee thought o' sayin' farewell to ee. Not arfter ev'rything uz've been thru t'gether."

Ansgar returned his gaze to Urthblood. "Oi do admit, et took some toime for oi to work up ee fortertude to ask M'Lord abowt whether oi cudd goo with ee. Bein' recently enlistered, oi wurr unsure whether t'were acceptable for any foighterbeast so new to ask for ee discharge. T'was only when et became clear ee was all healed oop proper an' ready fer travellin' that oi finally got 'round to et."

"And I was happy to grant it," Urthblood replied. "I know how close you and Bandon have grown this past season, and I suspected one or the other of you would eventually make such a request. Considering Bandon's long and faithful service, he's certainly entitled to have you join him, even if it means letting one more of my troops go for his sake."

"I… I really appreciate it, M'Lord," Bandon acknowledged to the badger warrior with a grateful nod.

"You're welcome. Safe journeying to you both." Urthblood strode off to speak with the mouse in charge of conducting their party. Bandon, Ansgar and Mykola remained together to share a few more moments of camaraderie before making their final farewells.

"So, you want to devote your life to aiding unfortunate creatures?" the fox asked, inquiring about a matter Bandon had mentioned to him earlier.

"Aye," Bandon affirmed, "though I still don't know 'xactly what that'll be. May'aps I'll become a healer, if I can find somebeast willin' t' teach me. But I'll find something, I'm sure of it."

"Hurr, as am oi," Ansgar said. "An' amember, thurr's still ee job drillen recroots if naught else."

"Indeed," Bandon acknowledged with a smile at his mole companion.

Mykola brought up another subject. "Liam had a family, a mother and younger brother, who reside in a village by the name of Conwyn, about an hour's travel from River's End. I think the brother's name is Kopec. I don't know whether he or his mother is aware of Liam's death. If you're able, could you make your way to them soon after you've arrived, to break this news to them as gently as you can and offer some sympathetic words?"

"Of course," the stoat nodded. "It's th' least I can do."

"Oi'll goo with ee when ee do," Ansgar put in.

"Speakin' o' such things, I don't think that's the only place I'll aim t' visit back up North," Bandon went on. "Unless I'm mistaken, I think there's a stoatmum who lives not far from there too, one I gotta make amends to fer th' way I treated her when we were celebratin' our victory in the Wildcat Wars. If I'm able, I'll try t' visit her sometime, tell her I'm sorry, see how she an' her son're doing. Lots of us behaved badly like that, 'specially after battles, but at least I get t' try 'n' make it right. So many of me mates'll never have that chance now."

"Burr hurr, if'n ee do, oi'll be truly proud of ee," Ansgar encouraged with another of his crinkle-eyed smiles.

Then at last the call came for the travel-ready beasts to gather up their things and be on their way before the morning grew any later.

Assembling where the base of the northern slopes gave way to the flat sands of the Coastal Plain, the two groups waved goodbye to each other, Mykola exchanging a heartfelt look with the mole and one-legged stoat, before the journeybeasts turned to commence their journey back to the Northlands. Ansgar reached up to lay his digging claw on Bandon's shoulder, and the stoat readily returned the gesture, the two companions reassuring each other with their shared closeness. Bandon may have had just one leg to stand on, but he knew now as never before that he had many friends to support him as well - and as long as he had that, he felt he could not fail, wherever his new life took him.

* * *

_And so we come to the end of this story. I don't have much to say here except that this last chapter, particularly the end, was written in all haste. As I think I've mentioned, I've been struck with a bad case of writer's block after the flashback in chapter 8, and I felt I needed to get this done as soon as possible to get it out of my system. I hope that this last chapter provides a somewhat satisfactory ending to the story._

_Of course, Wing improved it immeasurably (he had to come up with the very last lines, because I was unsure what to write there except working in the title of the story somehow) and I can't thank him enough for it. All the help he's been with editing this story is unbelievable, and I'm truly grateful he did that just as he did with Wolfrum. Thanks for that, ol' Featherbag!_

_I hope you've all enjoyed this story, especially Killy whom its dedicated too. We'll see if I return to Highwing's magnificent world again soon. Until that time, take good care, everyone!_


End file.
